2012 is the year I delve deeply into meta photobooth portraiture.

The cartoon really gives a feel for the scope of the thing, right?

Previously the debt-laden coed, maybe you knew her?

Originally Posted By emscreams

M and N after completing a Zombie Bike Ride on the undead route from Stock Island to Key West with 600 others. (Once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget.)

This is me I did this.
(Also, braaains.)

10 notes

From the Princeton Alumni Newsletter, Fall 2011

After completing her seventh triathlon using a bike she welded from titanium she mined, riding on a course she designed and paved using gold she carried flake by flake from mines she discovered with her eyes closed, swimming in a wetsuit made from seals she skinned by hand and stitched together using thread she wove from her own luxurious hair, three-time MacArthur Genius Grant recipient Maxine Lopez-Keough realized her true passion and life’s ambition lay in the eternally rewarding and primordially significant world of motherhood. “It’s what my body was made to do,” she explained to your interviewer, “everything else I’ve achieved— all these awards, the world records, the artificial limbs I’ve bought for poor people, the concertos I’ve composed, the papers in Science…it’s just worthless, really, compared to the act of getting knocked up.” She is now the sole guardian of six beautiful and healthy young boys, each named Maximilian, whom she has chosen to raise out of the eye of the public, in a bunker beneath her backyard, furnished only in the Shaker style. Each of her sons is fluent in at least six languages, plays six instruments, and possesses the power to magnetize elements not usually possessing magnetic qualities. The family spends the majority of its free time identifying cracks in the walls that resemble Nobel laureates. They sing together nightly and sleep entwined in the shape of a basket. The boys have begun to communicate telepathically. They have produced thus far a collective twelve novels. They claim to have made good progress towards adapting photosynthesis into their daily meals. On the question of what the chances were that a woman would one day be able to satisfy one of her sons, their mother shrugged her shoulders and responded: “Oh for fuck’s sake, they’re just boys.”

9 notes

The Christmas card.

Happy Holidays, love The Sodden Fish Murderers.

8 notes

This is what my new commute is.

6 notes

The rapper’s attorney Salvatore Strazzulo told NBC News that if the case had gone to trial, he would have argued that Brown did not moon the plaintiff and was not actually wearing underwear at the time, proving that Raymond was lying.

Foxy Brown, the founding father of bad bitches. This chick hit on my boyfriend HARD in a bleak-looking Rasta restaurant once, and I honestly count that moment as the one where I knew I’d snagged me a good one. Foxy Brown approves of my big weird white dude, I can quit the game, go home, put my feet up, the end.

8 notes

Originally Posted By hellogiggles

hellogiggles:

BIG BOOTY POWER HOUR: ICE LOVES COCO EPISODE 101: BABY’S GOT BRIDAL

by Caragh Poh

I feel strongly that this is the only thing that matters on the internet right now. That statement coming to you live from someone who just spent 2.4 hours of her life googling variations on the phrase “Great Dane Cat Are Friends Video” and watching the subsequent results with her knuckles in her mouth, like a child.

Great Dane And Cat Friends

Cats and Great Danes Friends

Video Great Dane Kitten Friends

Kitten and Great Dane are Friends Video

….I have a job, you guys. I have a job.

15 notes

I wrote about my dating life for Low Log.

16 notes

Wait, what?

I’m sorry, but: can we talk about the point of view here that is actually the scariest? Fuck the children and the single editors, and the teachers at Country Day. Okay? Oh, no, there’s a lion in my neighborhood, it’s messing with my view of all these hedges, it’s making my little Aubergine here miss her gymboree class. What? No. No! Can you imagine being a noble beast, formed over centuries to be lithe and impossibly strong and beautiful and your teeth are sharp as diamonds and you’ve got a huge motherfucking tail and you can crush skulls (all KINDS of skulls!) with your jaw and your natural environment— your everyday, no big deal, take a stroll outside hood —is just miles and miles of sun-dappled rocks and pine trees and crystal lakes, and the only traffic you usually have to deal with is just foxes being slow on forest trails and shit, and then one day you take a few bad turns after eating a particularly rank piece of deer carcass, you mis-trace your steps, and suddenly you look around and you’re in GREENWICH? Are you fucking kidding me.

THAT is the nightmare here. That poor fucking lion (who is straight up going to get shot in the ass with a dart full of tranq and then dragged off into the shadows…) that LION got lost and wound up in GREENWICH. Can you imagine how traumatizing that is, even? No, you can’t, it’s impossible. You’d block it out. It’s too horrible. It’s like: okay, imagine walking back from a party on MARS where you are a QUEEN and you drive a SPACE SHIP MADE OF CANDY and your life is basically THE BEST because you are INVINCIBLE but you get a little drunk and you get a little lost and weeks go by and suddenly you wind up in CONNECTICUT and you’re STARVING and there are a million fillet mignon steaks walking around like, OH NO, YOU’RE HERE? DON’T EAT MY DELICIOUS STEAK HEAD, EVEN THOUGH I AM THE WORST, BECAUSE I HAVE TO MAKE MY BOOK CLUB LATER, WE’RE DOING THE HELP. I can’t even…it’s so sad. It’s so, so sad.

17 notes