Pop Cesspool

WE'VE GOT 'CESSPOOL' IN THE TITLE FOR A REASON

The ample bowl of freshly prepared asian chicken soup (greens, rice noodles, dark meat) is in front of me. I eat all of it.

My body recognizes the influx of micronutrients, and within minutes my bowels relinquish a fine display of fecal prowess. It is approximately 5:30 p.m., not within my normal dook-realm.

Anthony Bourdain, if you're reading this, I say: This is your next frontier. Don't riff on the meat or how good it tastes. Tell me if your body was so pleased that you had to un-cage a glorious king snake afterward.

Make it be so.

JUSTIN BIEBER DEFEATS PUNK ROCK FOREVER

Anonymity-bars usually make people look creepy and mysterious. This squeaky urchin, however, is immune. Is it the fact that his hands are frozen into a piece sign? SOMEBODY TEACH THE KID HOW TO GIVE THE FINGER TO THE INDUSTRY. I feel empty inside:

 

 

 

 

IN OTHER NEWS: No Refused reunion.

IMPOSSIBLE TO TAKE SERIOUSLY

EMAIL INBOX LOLZ:

SHIT I HAD / SHIT EVERYBODY ELSE HAD

SHIT I HAD	SHIT EVERYBODY ELSE HAD
Magnavox Odyssey2	Atari
Pony	Nike
Coaster brake	Hand brakes
Corrective shoes	Topsiders
Boombox on seat	Actual car stereos
Velvet Elvis	Beer posters
Prodigy	AOL
Seasonal work	Internships
Excite	Hotmail
Debt	Stock options
Baldness	Hair
Android	iPhone

I MADE THIS ON MY PHONE

Neon pussy is the best kind of pussy.

QUESTION OF THE MONTH

DO YOU FIND YOURSELF SLIGHTLY DISCOMBOBULATED WHEN FACED WITH THE DECISION OF HOW TO PRONOUNCE 'GYRO' WHEN THE PERSON SERVING YOU IS OBVIOUSLY NOT GREEK?

PREVIOUSLY: THE EASIEST BLOG POST IN THE WORLD | TWILIGHT APPETITES AND THE DANGERS OF SELF-MEDICATION

ALL Y'ALL SMOKE BLACK & MILD AND CARELESSLY DISCARD YOUR BUSINESS IN MY YARD

Seriously, it's like every single day that I come out and find one of these stuck in the greenery. I know you're not doin' it on purpose, D.C., but let's talk frankly about this, people: That shit gets airborne easily, and then it ends up on my motherfuckin' property.

WHY CGI + SPORTS SUPERSTARS = STUPID

Upon deep background reflection (y'know, the kind where you tell the Subroutine Goblin* in your brain to sort something out, and like six months or a year later, he comes out covered in filth and slime, and he says breathlessly, "sir, I've got it!"), I've figured out why I hate commercials that use CGI to make athletes look even more amazing than they really are: It cheapens the real thing. If you have to make LeBron James or Ronaldinho look awesome -- if what they do on the field/court isn't interesting in its own right -- then you're tryin' too hard to sell shoes & sugarwater, bitches.**

* Any use of the Subroutine Goblin guarantees that somebody else is going to think of an answer first. You know the drill: I'd go lookin' for examples, but I'm too lazy.

** Making normal people look awesome via CGI, however, is acceptable.

AND NOW WE CELEBRATE THE SLAPPERS (YET AGAIN)

We are agnostic about the merits (comedic or otherwise) of slap-bass solos. But homemade videos of dudes playing slap-bass solos? You need this like a snack, yo:

PREVIOUSLY: IF THIS NOODLER CAN'T GET LAID, NO NOODLER CAN

ONLY ONE THING IS CERTAIN ABOUT STEPHEN STRASBURG

He inspires a special kind of neurosis in Nats beat writers. To wit: this piece about Jim Riggleman's role in Kerry Wood's career. It's intended as a sober reflection on how phenoms can crap-out, and it's also an examination of how Riggleman handled another dude who was supposed to Save The Universe From Collapse. Both angles are familiar on the baseball beat: Themes repeat themselves in every generation of players, and a manager's previous behaviors can mean a lot in the sport. Fair enough. But get a load o' these grafs:

Let's stop here: This is not another bash job on Riggleman for supposedly ruining Wood's career by overusing him as a rookie. This is not an attempt to scare Nationals fans by linking Strasburg to Wood, via Riggleman. Two different pitchers, two different situations, two different eras.

If anything, you may come away from this story feeling Riggleman played little or no role in Wood's injury-plagued career -- which includes three arm surgeries and 12 stays on the disabled list. You may come away understanding that sometimes, the difference between a perfectly healthy arm and a destroyed one is as random as a coin toss, as thin as the triangular band of fibrous tissue that connects the humerus to the ulna -- the infamous ulnar collateral ligament.

TRANSLATION: OH GOD, PLEASE DON'T LET SATAN OR EVIL GHOSTS OR ANYBODY ELSE TOUCH STEPHEN STRASBURG. DON'T EVEN LOOK AT HIM WITH ONE EYE. HE'S NOT KERRY WOOD, WE KNOW THAT, DUH, BUT EVEN IF HE WAS MANAGED BY JESUS OR GHANDI AND MADE OF MEGA-CARBON AND AWESOME-METAL AND OTHER IMPENETRABLE-YET-FLEXIBLE SUPERMATERIALS, WE'D BE TOTALLY FUCKING SCARED OF ACCIDENTALLY DESTROYING HIM WITH EVEN OUR THOUGHTS, BECAUSE THIS TEAM IS GONNA BE SO BORING OTHERWISE.

COMPARE/CONTRAST, YO: WU-TANG vs. MENUDO

Competition for New Wu-Tang Members: "The description from the competition’s website says they are looking for 9 talented young (contest is limited to those between the ages of 18 and 33) rappers to earn the “W” and record, tour and promote under the banner."

Menudo: "[The] idea was to form an all-boys group where the members would rotate as they grew older, with the intention to keep the group young. A member would be replaced when he reached his 16th birthday, his voice changed, grew facial hair, or grew too tall."

QUESTION: Can we call this new edition, "Wunudo?"

PREVIOUSLY: NBC's Merlins

KAY KAY: THE NIGELLA LAWSON OF BEATS

Stumbled across Kay Kay today while trolling for hip-hop flotsam. SHE TALKS ALL NICELY AND MAKES BEATS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES. IT COULD BE A TV SHOW. YOU WOULD WATCH IT THE SAME WAY YOU WATCH THOSE FOOD NETWORK LADIES. That's right, you and your girl, cuddled up on the couch, watchin' BEATS all day Saturday instead of FOOD. And your girl would be just as interested as you are. And maybe your girl would START MAKING BEATS FOR YOU. Yeah, that would be fantastic.

Kay Kay, to her credit, always tells you where she stops talkin' and starts slappin' on the drum machine. NOW THAT'S A LADY. Here it drops at 1:23. <--- METAPHOR, YO.

THE GAMER FATAL1TY SHOULD CONSIDER THIS HIS HIGHEST HONOR

Two facts:

1. It would be awesome to have the gamer-handle "fecal1ty."

2. A few people have already thought of that.

IMPORTANT NOTE: A specific component of fact No. 1 is the highest honor for the gamer Fatal1ty.

SIDE NOTE: Fact No. 1 can be broken into several components. Some of them are assumptions.

THE COMPONENT OF FACT No. 1 THAT SHOULD MAKE FATAL1TY FEEL SUPREMELY HONORED: I actually had a thought about Fatal1ty, unprompted, during my daily routine. That is, I was capable of thinking of him without being reminded that he existed.

This means he is famous.

SUMMATION

I didn't have the capability to make this 3-D.

(Original)

PLAY OUR ALICE IN WONDERLAND GAME: CREEPY OR BANAL?

It's easy to play. Look at the photo and say CREEPY or BANAL. Our responses are posted below! Ready, OK! Here we go:

BANAL

BANAL

eyebrows: CREEPY everything else: BANAL

BANAL

INSUFFICIENT DATA

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER POST ABOUT A WHITE GUY (DENIS LEARY THIS TIME)

NyQuil is still the same, but Leary is not. When I see him here again, many years later, in full Asshole mode, I'm newly struck with the feeling that he's a link between the coke-y bullshit of the '80s (see: David Carr) and the deliberate self-loathing of subsequent eras (see: my record collection). (Back then, I just thought he was showbiz.) Sure, Leary's comedy-druggie-asshole contemporaries were either more intellectually refined (Hicks) or more loudly brilliant (Kinison) but they also tend to be more, uh, dead than Leary is right now. In Leary's case, you can almost see the coca evaporating from his soul ... or at least he was really good at acting that way. Thus: Rescue Me. So maybe I'm just celebrating his longevity, with a side order of respect for his evolution. Yeah that's it.

I'm also taking NyQuil this week. Vid:

BEHOLD: IT IS ACTUALLY TERRY O'QUINN WHOM WE LOVE

We've definitely had our knickers in a pleasant twist about Locke at times, but after last night's Lost, we realize now that we really/actually/distinctly love Terry O'Quinn as a vessel for everything that the Lost writers want to put into it/him. He's not a vessel as in, "ooh yeah, lil' ho, take it," he's a vessel as in, "that frickin' handmade ancient urn is AWESOME." The medium is the message, maybe? Fuck, maybe they should've called the character McLuhan instead. Or Marshall, just for the sake of subtlety. Then they would've had to find a different name for Locke's "Jeremy Bentham" identity, and I don't know enough about semiotics/semantics/linguistics to think of a perfect swap-out. "Noam Chomsky," maybe? No, that's awful. Fuck, shit ... shows you how much I know.

I'M-A DO THIS EVEN IF YOU ALREADY DID

OK Go, This Too Shall Pass:

Peter Fischli and David Weiss, The Way Things Go (Der Lauf der Dinge):

UPDATE: Looks like Fast Company (h/t to The Awl) already knew what Yer Poppa* knew ... because Yer Poppa* has watched the Fischli/Weiss thing a few times at the Hirshhorn (check this mp3 podcast).

* illeism