I recently posted on “what are you listening to?” about my long-ago personal compilations of one-sie and two-sie saved tracks and of how I saved them ten days ago on my cell for treadmill listening. So, last night at LA Fitness I happened on to Pere Ubu’s Urban Lifestyle and again I was hit with the band’s haphazard injections here and there of cheesy low-fi single chord organ blasts. Bottom line is that I got to re-enjoy the dark arty looniness of UL.
That poor woman.
May she have only great and fortunate rebirths. May she always be born of friends, and may she and all who truly love her receive all needed healing.
That poor woman indeed.
… into happy timelines.
This is petty, I know… but you know the part in a Catholic mass where you greet everyone around you? Turn to them, shake hands, etc… I hope during that part NO ONE greeted Trump, like not a single person shook his hand, and he had to stand there looking dumb…
Or smiled while shaking his hand and said - I didn’t wash my hands after going to the bathroom.
“Peace be with you, peace be with you, NOT YOU, peace be with you…”
You think Trump has ever washed his hands?
I swear to all that is holy, are there no grownups in the room? Anywhere? This isn’t a rave, people.
His germs are the best. Everyone else’s are ewww-yucky.
Nope… that’s the awful secret… The commitment to “keeping up appearances” is stronger than being an adult who will tell the truth.
World leaders are fucking spineless cowards who only care about appearances.
The grownup is in the coffin.
Is that Mephistopheles?
On the left? Nah. Just one of Mephistopheles’ more intellectually challenged minions.
A high school friend’s mom nicknamed me Christopheles.
