Now I know that there are no stories of primates living long-term with humans that don’t end in a tornado of blood, tears, feces and/or trips to the emergency room.

merlin:

Rudy Vallee: “Over One Hundred and Forty Five”

This totally made my night.

Surprised? Well, how’d you think all those Baby Butlers got made, smartass?

This one is for you, Mr. Maltese. Voola voola from the guy with a cock in his voice.

Vans and the places where they were.
Advice from a patron saint: Jane Birkin edition « The Thought Experiment
Episodes


  We should put these heads on a stick and hide bombs in them.


AXE COP! Written by a five year old and illustrated by a 29 year old. What more could you ask for in a comic book?

Episodes

We should put these heads on a stick and hide bombs in them.

AXE COP! Written by a five year old and illustrated by a 29 year old. What more could you ask for in a comic book?

Men at Work’s number one hit Down Under reproduced a “substantial part” of the children’s folk tune Kookaburra Sits In the Old Gum Tree, infringing copyright in the song, a Federal Court judge found today. Larrikin Music, which owns the copyright to the song Kookaburra, is now entitled to recover damages - potentially a huge sum - from band members and their record company. (via Men at Work ripped off Kookaburra: judge - Music - Entertainment - theage.com.au)

Men at Work’s number one hit Down Under reproduced a “substantial part” of the children’s folk tune Kookaburra Sits In the Old Gum Tree, infringing copyright in the song, a Federal Court judge found today. Larrikin Music, which owns the copyright to the song Kookaburra, is now entitled to recover damages - potentially a huge sum - from band members and their record company. (via Men at Work ripped off Kookaburra: judge - Music - Entertainment - theage.com.au)

This comment comes to the defense of the original blog post’s author with a zeal that is unsettling to behold.

… the starless midnight of racism and war …

Don’t give Connecticut the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

The birds are singing their horrid morning song. We’re not falling for it. They’re nothing but winged propagandists, Lord Haw-Haws of the Air paid to propagate the absurd idea that the morning isn’t something to be met with a 12-gauge.