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This post was begging for the inclusion of this Elliott Smith track from Figure 8:

Listening to Elliott Smith is probably the worst choice possible for somebody searching for happiness — the man is practically The Anti-Joy. Almost every song he wrote is dripping in melancholy. Look at it this way, the man committed suicide by stabbing himself in the chest. TWICE. That’s not just a case of a blues, folks. Nonetheless, this is actually one of his more upbeat tracks… not that that’s saying much.

Oh, speaking of suicide — the quote is Ernest Hemingway’s — perhaps just a little bit biographical considering most of his work focuses on death and then, yeah, there was that whole thing where he killed himself, too. Anyway, a bit of a grim start to the day. Cheer up, Charlie. After all, it’s…

Ignorance really is bliss. I wish a Playstation 3 and an HD plasma screen television were all I needed for a content existence. But no, you need games for it, too.

This line from Saul Williams’ incredible verse in “Release” by Blackalicious always struck me — judging from the amount of time I spend taking photos of garbage or things that are otherwise destroyed and useless, I suppose you could say I have a bit of a fascination with imperfection. Which is weird, because I consider myself a pretty hard-line perfectionist. But perhaps it’s that dichotomy which fuels the inner chaos I pour out onto the page, day after day, for you ungrateful masses. Or maybe that’s just what I would say if I was a pretentious asshole.

If you missed the song the first time I posted it, make sure to check yourself, lest ye wreck yourself:

Easily one of the greatest hip hop masterpieces ever recorded, falling maybe just below Mr. T’s “Mother.”

This is my official reply to the 160+ spam comments I received between the hours of 6 and 7:30 PM last night…

Yeah, it doesn’t make too much sense, but neither did any of the spam I got.

In fact, that’s the worst part. They were all completely nonsensical — literally, there was no reason for these comments to exist at all except to annoy. So I guess they’re kind of like mosquitos, except at least we were able to use mosquitos to bring dinosaurs back to life until fat, stupid Dennis Nedry had to go and fuck it all up.

Really, just ask yourself, if you saw this message sailing on the Internet’s high seas during your travels, would you be at all enticed?

a8L6Hx xoklakygzknu, [url=http://tpdsdyjvpwkn.com/]tpdsdyjvpwkn[/url], [link=http://fqbodgnzdeku.com/]fqbodgnzdeku[/link], http://npxlpzlnsfix.com/ 

Mmm… so rich with meaning. Anthropologists from the future will be trying to decode that shit for decades. I honestly don’t understand how spam remains an actual industry. How does anyone make any money at all from this? They don’t appear to be selling anything — no veiled messages about nude celebrities or herbal penis remedies. I mean, Jesus Christ, the fucking link doesn’t even work! It was designed for the sole purpose of wasting my time!

Another strike against the robots, as far as I’m concerned.

That’s right — go forth, all ye merry hoodrats, scoundrels, and assorted scalawags, for this is your night. During the waking hours of the other 364 days of the year, you rightfully earn the title “goon” for your various antics, illegal and otherwise. But tonight, you are the champions. When all of the less experienced, half-stepping drinkers, tokers, and dosers that come out of the woodwork for New Year’s festivities are throwing up an hour after midnight, you’ll … well there’s a good chance you’ll be throwing up as well.

But the point is, for once, you’ll be in good company. In America, New Year’s Eve, much like Halloween, serves as an excuse for literally everyone (even the typically demure) to unleash their chained-up inner retard. Even if the urban bourgeois would normally resent your presence roaming the streets of “their” trendy neighborhoods, tonight they’ll probably be too drunk to notice you darkening their favorite bar’s doorstep with pot smoke.

I think I’d have to go with smell in the end — it seems the least “essential” in terms of quality of life to me. Plus, I gotta say, there would probably be times I’d be thankful to never smell a rotten fart or piss-soaked subway car again.

When I was considering this question, my trusted friend Wikipedia had some enlightening information about the senses to share:

Humans are considered to have at least five additional senses that include: nociception (pain), equilibrioception (balance), proprioception & kinaesthesia (joint motion and acceleration), sense of time, thermoception (temperature differences), with possibly an additional weak magnetoception (direction). 

Not quite as easy to remember for all the first graders though, I’m afraid. Which is probably why I had never read about any of these perceptions being labeled “senses” until today, on the 79^th day of my 24^th year of life. Seriously, I’ve been feeling all of these things for 24 fucking years and I somehow didn’t know they were feelings? Is the American education system retarded, or am I retarded? Or perhaps, am I retarded because of the American education system? If only I had a sense that could tell me that!

Thanks tireless automatons at Sticker Robot, I’ve recently come into my very own army of Dedhead stickers. Although perhaps “army” is the wrong word, since I’ve always thought of myself as more of a hired gun, soldier-of-fortune type. Which means that for the right price, you can have a gang of Dedheads all your own.

Seeing as my life-long role model has been Scrooge McDuck, a swimming pool full of gold coins that I could dive into every morning has been pretty consistently near the top of my Christmas wish list every year. Now that I’m old enough to buy my own presents, but not rich enough to buy myself very good ones, a bath tub full of kind-of-gold-colored Dedleg stickers will have to suffice.

Is a nasty case of H1N1 keeping you down this fall? A heaping bowl of vitamin-enriched Deddios will put a toothy grin on your face! 

Want some? Email me your mailing address and I promise you’ll only receive an envelope with a few stickers, and not a creepy guy lurking outside your bedroom. I promise

Okay guys, get this. It’s 2009. In fact, it’s almost 2010. Two millennia have passed since that Jesus guy had to go and get himself executed and we still can’t fucking just get over it?

God this doesn’t spell good news for actually forgetting 9/11.

Seriously though, how in the fuck do Roman Catholic Bishops still hold influence in what goes on in United States politics? Remember how these guys tried to cover up the molestation of thousands of young boys? Um… so why is it we’re still listening to them on matters relating to children?

A restriction on abortion coverage, added late Saturday to the health care bill passed by the House, has energized abortion opponents with their biggest victory in years. … The provision would block the use of federal subsidies for insurance that covers elective abortions.

Abortion rights advocates charged Sunday that the provision threatened to deprive women of abortion coverage because insurers would drop the procedure from their plans in order to sell them in the newly expanded market of people receiving subsidies. 

Look, believe in an ancient Jewish zombie’s magical powers all you want, but keep your chosen belief structure out of the lives of people who don’t believe in fairy tales.

Oh well, don’t plan on having any unplanned pregnancies in the future, I guess.

I’ve sort of got this thing for color. Not sure if you noticed.

In case you missed them, here’s a look at the splash images I made to bide my time while I was still mixing the indecent potions that would eventually fuel dedleg’s insatiable thirst.

And for everybody out there rooting for me, I’d like to announce that I’ve officially dropped my indecent potion habit. I’ve always been more of a beer guy anyway. Blue Moon is almost like orange juice, so it works nicely for those times you have to take your breakfast with you on the drive to work.