Stop all that coon shit, early morning cartoon shit/
This is that goon shit, fuck up ya whole afternoon shit/
The energy captured by the angst and frustration in this song was fully lit all over America in 2014, coming to a full combustion in Ferguson. It continues to burn this week a year later on the streets of Baltimore. In the future, when somebody makes a movie about the general civil unrest of the last year – I doubt there will be a better soundtrack to the images. Oh yea, this song was released in 2013 at least a year before all that. Genius. We are witness. Baby, we livin… in the moment.
Oh damn, those are some NEXT LEVEL potatoes. I checked my email this morning and this badass pic was there, a response to a throwaway line about potato pizza in a past potato post. Those potatoes right there are GOING IN. What other potatoes do you know living a life that luxurious? All bathed in cheese, rocking that hot, fresh pizza look? Not many. Probably 1% of all potatoes. That’s just a downright demonstrative display of wealth. I’m not even mad, I’m just jealous.
Those potatoes don’t have to work ever again. They’re in full time chill mode, living off marinara and crust interest. They’re not potato-rich. They’re potato-wealthy. Ain’t many potatoes socializing in the same circles as Pepperoni, Sausage, and Canadian Bacon. Those are all proteins. These potatoes don’t care. They’ve George Jeffersoned the culinary game. They’re living in the same gated neighborhoods as meat.
Those potatoes right there are the damn American Dream. “Sure they look pretty, but do they have any actual talent?” you scoff. Scoff away hater, you know if you looked that good you’d be laying out on pizza slices all day too. There’s no shame in that. There’s nothing wrong with taking advantage of being beautiful. That’s just business savvy. That takes more than luck. Selling out is a skill, scoffer. Go spew your scoffing somewhere else. Leave me and these NEXT LEVEL potatoes alone!
If you’ve got potatoes you want me to look at, email them to email@example.com.
“Pick a Card… any card“. That kind of talk might land your local carny in light-saber-sliced pieces if they jaw-jack it to a cotton-candy-wielding Han Solo. We’ve heard the saying before; “A trick is something a whore does for money“, and in the video above, illusionist David-Blaine pimps Indian Jones’ emotions with nothing more than some fresh produce and a gentle touch of a ginsu.
I tried to squeak out a fart at work but it was NOT silent.
Okay little background here, Diary. My office recently relocated to a new building which meant we had to help move a bunch of office crap into our new space. Moving always BLOWS. There’s never a time when moving is fun. This past weekend I helped my dad finish moving out of our old house. I’ve moved around a lot in my life, living in twenty some houses, but this was the house I’d lived in the longest. It bounced back and forth in possession between my mom and my dad, but it was always in the family for the past 16 or so year. You’d think this would have been an emotional moment in my life, a heartfelt goodbye to childhood. No. You’d think wrong. It was the absolute worst because MOVING ALWAYS BLOWS. Continue reading Ben’s Diary: I Tried To Squeak Out A Fart At Work But It Was NOT Silent