Foster, don’t ever stop.
I’m getting fired tomorrow. I’m sure of it. I know exactly how the call is going to go. “Between ‘fuckin’ stuff. Awesome stuff.’ and calling John Mayer a date rapist - his lawyer called, by the way, we’re being sued - uh, we’re going to have to let you go. Also, bad news: you’re functionally retarded.”
When did this job devolve into receiving bitchy texts from publicists?
Oh, yes, sir. Welcome to the scrum.
My Favorite Gawker Item I've Ever Written Or Will Write, Ever -
This is the best. The best. The comments on this thread will be fantastic.
F: i hope he doesn’t try to rape me
B: i hope he tries to rape me
The photoshop skillz strike again:
Glenn Beck’s talking up some scary plan for 2010 lately. It’s scary because Glenn Beck is talking. And today, Glenn Beck unveiled his 100-year plot to fundamentally change America—and democracy—as we know it. Glenn Beck is fucking insane.
Oprah’s quitting and some of her celebrity friends like Ellen are sad. But oh, hey look, MORE OF THESE GODDAMN SQUARES.
The sooner, the better, because this day will not end well.
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
Okay, so it’s not exactly Richard Siken. But you know what? I may not have an MFA, but I fuckin’ tried! It by no means was bad enough to be deleted, Meaghan. Related:
It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio…
Further reading here.
guess who stole meaghans blog I am singing a fucking ace of bass song in my head hmm hmm hmmhmm hmm hmm hmmmm hmm hmm hmm hm hm hmm hmmm yeah that’s fucking right it’s “the sign” also get this THE REVOLUTION WILL NOT BE TUMBLD instead it will be transmitted via tin cans and string. We are not afraid of you and we will beat your ass. You may not have our lunch. You may not have our lunch. You may not…Jesus, fine. Hey look, it’s a bag of
As a nation huddles amongst their families in their living rooms tonight, heads in their anxious hands, waiting for Walter Winchell or Ryan Seacrest’s twitter to notify us of the condition of recently hospitalized Nicole Richie, we take pause to reflect on the sobering fragility of … WAIT, WHAT? EGGO SHORTAGE?
You have the onslaught of increasingly subtle marketing that whispers sweet ads in your daily digest or finds its way into your subconscious through viral or guerilla marketing. And on the flipside you have what you saw when you got on this site more than likely. A GIANT AD that oh-where-the-fuck-is-that-close-button.
I mean we don’t like How I Met Your Mother and its lazy writing, but we dig us the Barney Stinson lines that our girl friends regurgitate to us when trying to convince us that the show isn’t the same from when we rented the Season 1 DVD and declared never to watch another episode
- Not having to resort to the same payment system as Fat Joe, Pattinson adorably made it rain sharpie and smiles and your daughter took it off like she was in a Hot Topic dressing room.
- Waffle enthusiasts now employ the same method for their vitriolic expressions of despondency as civil rights protesters in Iran.
This is a technology blog right?
READ THEM ALL HERE
See, Michael thinks we’re not reading, because he gets away with this shit. Oh. But we are. We most definitely are.
Yep, going to see it this weekend. Because I’m a good husband, that’s why.
Or a pussy.