The Lamentation

● I figured I'd make the opening graphic all cultured, because this post gets pretty pop-trashy from here on in. So. A little Giotto.

● Man. I just sit in my bedroom not moving at all somehow getting hipper and hipper. But not really.

● I am, since yesterday, wearing that Mobile 17 ringtone thing the fuck out.

● I am now a little bit poorer. Awesome. (You'll get your money, Ladyface.)

● Finally found online! official Dio Rai Janeiro headwear!

● I have a feeling we'll be out of oil in, like, twenty-two months. I don't care. I want a Paul Smith Triumph. (As featured in the photo issue of Esquire, which you should really only purchase because you get to see Keira Knightley's right nipple.)

● Here I am bitching about how there's no more Grand Royal, and then this one cat Stephen McBean starts being all completely amazing all the time. (There's something about a middle ground being struck between several Sarchichan sets of tastes that seems to be happening with these freaks.)

●I wonder how Camdonia feels about the Revolution controller.

One day they will respond.

●Speaking of them cats. We just had the (ahem) Best Idea Ever:



Unfortunately, come draft day, I don't think any of us gets The Miz. (Strangely, we are dead serious, though not as serious as these weirdos.)

Either way, Fahsboro Feelers are detecting a distinct air of disgust wafting over from Hiebradond. And I say to Hiebradond: Well. Where's your map-sketch, mang? Answer me that!

● Higginblatt is right now crossing the country, headed for San Antonio. I wish we could get one of those maps with, like,the dotted line keeping us all up to the minute.