Like the grease from the very burger or the potato chip that he was chompin’ and pushin’ back in the day, JA had seeped into and saturated the folds of our delicious brains as this guy before Seinfeld. Not too far of a stretch from the role to come… You can say what you like about the man, but you cannot deny his talent.
Enjoy:
And to finish, this.
Yo Gabba Gabba! (There's a Party in my Tummy !)
I don’t know if its the grungy I just got out of prison; fuck the world; this is my girlfriend/sister, yeah she was exposed to high levels of radiation SO WHAT??! feel that the Afrikaner group, Die Antwoord have going on about them, or the secondhand bootleg beats underneath, but I think I might like them.
Maybe it’s their artful use of primordial dwarfism?
As number of systems owned increases, average yearly salary at age 34 increases.
As number of systems owned increases, number of times laid per sophomore year of high school decreases.
As number of systems owned increases, number of times laid per life increases.
As number of systems owned increases, likelihood of finding gold stuck to the bottom of your shoe increases .0097% per 8/11ths of game console.
I’ve had 15, how about you?
Put your feet up, read Not Drugs, and admire your toes:
What happened to good music?
This guy has written for J. Lo., Mary J. Blige, and was involved in 50 Cent’s rise to stardom. He’s still turning out the classics:
The Fat Boys Recently released their own line of shirts–distributed by Urban Outfitters. I went to urban outfitters in Atlanta, GA last week (needed a pair of throw-away shoes for a thing I hadda do. That thing abou’ the guy. You know the thing what I’m sayin’?) You can pick one up in the clearance section in the back.
Get a Shirt
Number 10: Build a snow man.
Snow men aren’t necessarily Christian. Frosty was a Jew–though he kept that under wraps as much as possible–you know how it is in Hollywood. If you’re living in the East, building a snow man is no problem. Just like–you know, go outside and build a snow man.
For those of us living on the breast coast–this is a little bit harder of a task to tackle, but rewarding in the end.
Step One: buy an old freezer off craigslist.
Step Two: Lay the freezer on its back and plug it in.
Step Three: Line the inside of the freezer with butter or NON stick cooking spray (you’re going to really want to find that NON-stick kind).
Step Four: Fill it with water.
Step Five: wait four days.
Step Six: Remove the large block of ice from the freezer.
Step Seven: using a cheese grater, shave the block of ice down to a pile of “snow flakes.” (you’re going to have to do this very quickly).
Step Eight: Quickly assemble the snowman.
Step Nine: Enjoy a job well done.
Number 9: Wassail
Wassailing’s not just for the goys. In fact, its roots are not rooted in Jesus worship, but in roots. Wassail is a contraction of 2 Middle English words wæs and hæil, meaning “be healthy.” The original meaning of wassail was to go into apple orchards and sing songs of good health to the trees. So go sing to some trees.
Number 8: Sit in a darkened apartment and drink from an old bottle of gin.
Number 7: Don’t cry.
Number 6: Go to the store and buy some milk.
Mumbuer 5: There’s probably something good on the Discovery channel.
Number 4: A favorite tradition of non-christian individuals looking to enjoy a holiday not meant for them is to eat some chinese food. If you’re in the LA area I highly suggest Yang Chow on N. Broadway in China Town. I had the Yang Chow lamb last time I went. I am totally serious: that was the best fucking piece of lamb I’ve ever put in my mouth.
Number 3: Solve the Hodge Conjecture:
Have at it.
Number 2: Binaurals
Number 1: Go see Avatar.
Roland Burris retooled Clement Clarke Moore’s famous Twas the Night Before Christmas in order to get his point across about health care to the members of the Senate. It got a lot of media attention, and maybe struck a chord in the hearts of the little Christian boys that live inside of each and every GOP senator’s pants soul.
Watch it here.
Dr. Soos’ half brother, Wade Cartright, a homophobic racist preacher from west Alabama, did his own rendition of Moore’s masterpiece and read it for the annual Christmas gathering at the local Elk lodge. Full text below. Enjoy!
Twas the day after Chanukah and all through the land
Not a creature was stirring; not beast, child nor man.
The lights had gone out and the latkes were eaten,
on a corner somewhere, a little black boy was beaten.
But this is not a story about Raekwon al Rashim
not about the Mozel Tov fairy nor Yitzach Rabin.
This is the tale of a dreary young lad,
who dealt drugs in Alaska because he hated his dad.
A sad tale indeed, of Bob Rubenstein–
“Bobby the winner,” once upon a time.
It all changed when his father, Shlomo the butcher, was found-out
to be the murderous killer who’d been lurking about.
He killed without mercy, without joy, without tact
Unlike Hannibal Lecter, it was taste that he lacked.
He’d kill and kill and murder some more;
a Jewish American Princess, 3 mimes, twice a whore.
But, again, this story is not about Shlomo
It’s about his son, Bobby, the drug-dealing homo.
He flew to Alaska when his dad was arraigned
to peddle marijuana, heroine and cocaine.
The Eskimo people were all but taken
by Bobby’s charm, his drugs, and the way he sliced bacon.
Breakfasts at noon, lunch at half-past four.
Dinner at seven, but they’d eat some more…
all into the night, the Eskimos ate,
fueled by Bob’s pot, man it was great.
“Bobby,” they’d say, “your pot, it’s so good…”
Bobby would smile and tighten his hood.
“I’m glad you like it,” he’d turn and say in his way, “now I must be going, though I wish I could stay.”
The Eskimos pleaded with Bob Rubenstein
To stay in their land and have a good time.
Good times were gone, though, for young Bobby R,
He’d ran from his home, his girl and his car.
All he had now was his tiny igloo
a Tranny named Footsie, and a cold, icy loo.
Through was this lad with strange sex, cold food and ass cheeks
He had to get home, he’d been there for weeks.
So he jumped on a walrus and sailed 20 days
over the bearing straight, to the land of the gays.
In San Fran he has been for the past 24 years,
Enjoying good light, sour dough and the queers.
The moral of the story is found in this rhyme:
If your dad is a serial killer, best learn to 69.
The end.
The people I talk to, which are by no means an accurate cross-section of the population, seem to vary on their expectations of James Camron’s Avatar. They either love the idea or think it “sounds fucking stupid.”
Whatever you’re feelings are about it, the fact is this movie is a revolutionary addition to the realm of cinema–one that will positively change the industry forever–and I’m not talking about the blue dudes, the camera technology, or the special effects. Actually, I’m talking about all three, but not in the way you’re thinking. Sure the FX will be stunning, the fantastical world–fantastic, but in the combination of these elements (plus the 3D factor) is hwood’s first built-in anti-piracy technique, making it nearly impossible for pirates to reproduce and distribute the film in a marketable fashion. With current movie-viewing technology, the only way to view this movie will be in specially designated 3D theaters, with 3D glasses, and a DD girl to your right.
The girl part’s not true. But the rest is. Reads about it.
ref:
NPR
Not Drugs Presents: TShea Does NYE in NYC from notdrugs on Vimeo.
