This commercial, I saw it on TV sometime midday yesterday, I can't stop thinking about it. I admit I don't see a lot of commercials and don't pay attention to many after two seconds, but this one I've been unpacking since I saw it and the more I unpack the more I see needs unpacking. Since the youtube might die soon or never, here, for future late tuner-inners: the Pillsbury Doughboy, his turn in front of a long line of aggrieved travelers to pass through TSA screening, giggles in delight when fingered by a fat white middle-aged TSA agent. How happy are people who switch to GEICO? asshole with the guitar asks asshole with the mandolin, answer being people fingered by TSA agents. And I'm such a whack I think, there are no accidents round here, whether deliberate or, more likely and frighteningly, not, so seamless is the overlap it's not even considered by the applicators.
- That was requested by Randal.
- Remote control.
- Jesus Christ on a goddamn drone.
- Capitalism.
- Capitalism.
- Fear as constant companion.
- How important to be validated by capitalism? I confess, this is a tap-root of my bleggalgazing.
- Hillarian inevitability.
- Hamster warns me to stay away from the Statue of Liberty. No problem.
- New Inquiry's generous Sunday linkages.
- { feuilleton }'s weekend links.
- I didn't see Columbus 3, United 0 though Goff makes it sound United was more competitive than score indicates, but: new ownership hoped to steal a positive year on the cheap until stadium situation is resolved, and that's a valid business decision I suppose, but PLEASE DON'T TELL ME LOSING JOHN THORRINGTON AND LEWIS NEAL IS WHY THIS TEAM SUCKS, THIS TEAM SUCKS BECAUSE JOHN THORRINGTON AND LEWIS NEAL WERE YOUR FIRST TEAM CHOICES!
- Not just a punctuation mark anymore.
- Magnificent Octopus is today's addition to Newest Gag.
- Elm.
- Someone else who uses lameass Star Trek allusions.
- Shoot me.
- Beethoven listens.
- Holyfuck, this song:
REVOLUTIONARIES, 1929
Adam Kirsch
Twelve years on, the beard that Lenin wore
Still sharpens revolutionary chins
To dagger-points held ready for the war
In which the outgunned proletarians
Will triumph thanks to these, their generals,
Whose rounded shoulders and round glasses say
That sedentary intellectuals
Raised in the bosom of the bourgeoisie
Can also learn to work — if not with hands,
Then with the liberated consciousness
That shrinks from nothing since it understands
What’s coming has to come. The monuments
To which the future genuflects will bear
These faces, so intelligently stern,
Under whose revolutionary stare
Everything that is burnable must burn.
