Pop Cesspool

A BRIEF INSIGHT ABOUT THE DISNEY-MARVEL DEAL

Shit, "Sportscenter" is gonna be packed with all kinds of superhero bullshit now.

THE ORIGINAL CRYPTO-HIPPIE MASCOT

This NFL Huddle doll from the '80s:

Is actually a junior member of Fleet Foxes:

I am implying, of course, that Fleet Foxes are crypto-hippies, i.e., they've got something to hide. I'm probably wrong about that. I think they're just real fuckin' hippies.

Whenever Y-Rock on XPN gets around to posting Robin Pecknold's "Radio Takeover" session from Aug. 7, you'll hear what I'm sayin'. Total hippie.

BONUS: ROIDS:

MORE FUN WITH MIXTAPE TITLES

As we've pointed out before, sometimes rappers try to be hard or profound when naming an opus, and that shit kinda backfires. Some more examples:

Nipsey Hussle: Bullets Ain't Got No Names series. Yes, bullets have no names because they're inanimate objects.

Jody Breeze: Album Before The Album. Fuck it, then, I'll just wait for the album.

J Hood & DJ J-Boogie: Uncrowned King series. What, you lost the crown? It got stolen? More than once? Protect your shit. Until then, I'm-a follow the crowned king.

Juelz Santana: Back Like Cooked Crack. ARGH, it ain't crack UNTIL YOU COOK IT. (Note to readers: If you use this little catch phrase, you are perpetuating a horrible, unfunny redundancy.)

THE MARCH OF PROGRESS MEANS CRAPPY-ASS STUFF COMES TO MY HOUSE

Years ago we were happy to advance plenty of subscription money to Jane magazine, with the understanding that we'd accept the nifty rag into our home for several more years, even after Jane Pratt had turned it over to somebody who wasn't nearly as interesting. Then the Pratt-less Jane went away, and we started getting this piece of shit, because Condé Nast was, uh, kind enough to honor its obligations:

Fuck, what a shitty publication. I like looking at women's magazines. Media is media. But when I open this one, it feels like an endless sorority "friends" collage made by a batshit returning-adult student who still considers herself to be a hot, social co-ed. Except, y'know, it's not even interesting in an anthropological way. It's just batshit.

I think our Jane money is finally running out, though, because Condé Nast has been bombarding our mailbox with Glamour re-up offers. Fuck that.

Ditto for Maxim, which seems to be the replacement for Blender, another dead glossy that was absolutely the best in its small, increasingly irrelevant class -- and thus well worth the 10 bucks a year. I dunno how long Maxim is gonna keep showing up as a Blender proxy, but I keep thinking to myself: "This is slightly more useful than Glamour." And I probably think that way only because I'm a heterosexual dude. Still, though, shit is shit.

IT'S POSSIBLE THAT PHIFE DAWG KNOWS WHAT HE'S TALKING ABOUT

I like how he shits on the Raiders while he's basically in their backyard.

WHO NEEDS ALIENS WHEN YOU'VE GOT TORNADOES?

This twister was in Canada, but whatever. They're weird, too.

The rise of the pocket video camera means that every single fucking tornado that comes into contact with civilization is now probably preserved in pixels. I'm actually OK with this, because of all the shit that happens on a regular basis in the sky, tornadoes are the closest thing -- in disposition, if not constitution -- to angry extraterrestrial life forms descending on the landscape. In fact, I have a hypothesis that goes something like this: Give a Flip camera to every knucklehead in tornadoland, and large swaths of our nation's rich UFO-conspiracy heritage would start to dissolve. Because, really, look at that huge fucking tornado. Holy shit.

A REALIZATION ABOUT 'TOP CHEF'

Wolfgang Puck is all like, "You didn't stay awake to see me judge the competition, and now you must eat all of this meat and stare at this weird lady."

Lately I've stopped watching each episode about 10 minutes before the winner is announced. I just kinda drift away or conk out. But I don't care that I miss the resolution of the drama. The fun -- if it can be called that -- is in the mental appropriation-of-concoction, not the vicarious triumph. Maybe I'm secretly a hippie. Last night I stopped watching the Middle-Aged White Guys Championship after the food was delivered to the feasting zombies. Who won that shit? I dunno. And Ep. 1 of The Tattoos, Sideburns, Piercings and Annoying Siblings Collective? Some chick made meat out of wheat gluten, right?

OH, WE'RE UP ON *THIS* SHIT AGAIN?

Show me the projected-path map for a hurricane, and my inner 12-year-old rushes to the surface: Where's it gonna hit? Hmm? Hmm?  That kid is an asshole, though, because ever since Katrina, there's no reason to get excited about a huge fucking storm heading toward any coast. So then my inner old guy speaks up, and he tells the 12-year-old that he's an asshole, and the 12-year-old goes back to his room to do the private things that 12-year-olds do. I'm always catching that kid with his winky in his hands. The old guy? He wants you to look at the map, in case Bill is gonna fuck your shit up. That means you, Bermuda:

TUFF

It's that bad-back/short-goal mode, yo:

A SOLUTION FOR IGGLES FANS

Rock your Mike Vick official game jersey with an SPCA patch on the shoulder. Like this:

HAIRLESS DUDE CAUSES SYNAPSES TO FIRE

I've dissed this Facebook-oriented American Laser Centers advertisement once already. But now when I see it:

I think of this dude from Dat Sookie Show With The Boobies and Vampires:

NOTE: The ad used to offer $5,000 instead of $3,000. Fuckin' economy.

HESHER OF THE MONTH

Personally, I would've started with "A" and saved the compilations for the end, but who am I to criticize? I don't have either volume of "Metal for Muthas."

Here's Part II. I probably would not have split my Maiden collection between the two videos, but again, I don't have multiple copies of "Killers."

MY WISH FOR THE NEW SEASON OF 'MAD MEN'

IT MIGHT BE A SLOW WEEK AROUND HERE

So here's some awesome dry-humping to tide you over. If you're a cheap hedonist, you might wanna fast-forward to the major techniques at 3:00. Warning: crotches and silliness:

Major Lazer "Pon De Floor" from Eric Wareheim on Vimeo.