

Whenever I draw a photo blank on what to dredge up from the past, I know I can always find something of merit in “The Puppet Show” folder from jackass number two. I don’t know how many stills I’ve spotlighted from that skit since we started these daily droppings, but me, I never tire of them. I’ll double-dip, triple-dip … I don’t give a punk fuck. I’m sure a lot can be said both philosophically and psychologically about this particular image—perhaps even religiously if you take the serpentine lore from the book of Genesis to heart—but none of those heady topics are my particular cup of tea. I mean, feel free to sip tea and mentally stroke your cerebral cortex until it’s good, hot, and hard. It’s just that me myself, I prefer a good stiff shot of laughter to get me through the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go sit in the corner and scratch my ass. Maybe I’ll smell my finger, maybe I won’t. That is half the sensory fun, though.
more chris pontius

Hey, Russia! America used to be at odds with them and now we’re not. Sort of. It’s no longer a Cold War, I know that much, but every so often you hear something in the news that leads me to believe it’s more of a Tepid Friendship. At least by way of politics, because people are people and even though we have different needs we’re all made out of the same stuff: blood, guts, musculature, bones, and a fancy skin suit to zip it all up and hold everything in place. Sometimes I’m not so sure that the supposed advantage our brains possess over every other living thing on planet Earth is a good thing, because it’s all the “other stuff” that just gets in the way of essentially being human. So can’t we all just be humans and get on with getting on already? On that Utopian note, I’d like to extend a happy birthday to late American novelist, supreme satirist, and humanist Kurt Vonnegut. Your bodily presence is sorely missed, but thank you for leaving your legacy of thoughts and words behind. Anyway, were it not for Mother Russia finally dropping her iron-clad Soviet issue skirt in 1991, the Wildboyz would not have had this opportunity to go play amateur soldiers of fortune for a day and joyride/joyfire expensive military hardware. God bless you, Mr. Gorbachev!