Over, under, sideways, down

Gort found this flyer the other day:

I can’t read the contact info, but I’m intrigued. If it’s just some dude with a Thomas Guide, he has my full support.

Sticken the thonge out

A friend of mine who directs horror movies found this flyer the other day near his home around Griffith Park:

It’s too perfect, right? It can’t be real, can it? But it’s also too perfect to not be real. I don’t know what’s going on.

I also just realized that I know of at least one other horror movie director who lives in the general vicinity of this flyer. Is this some sort of new screenwriting pitch technique? YOWHOO!

Movie or not, I’m sueing the city

I found this flyer in Elysian Park a couple of weeks ago. Usually I can follow the story in these sorts of things, sort of, but this one has me stumped. I can’t even get started – the 777 = 21 seems like it’s going somewhere, but then the other numbers just muddle everything up. Anybody want to fill me in on the conspiracy theory here?

Is Zardoz involved?

I’m your Huckleberry hound

Don’t be alarmed.

This fuzzy gargoyle is named Huckleberry and he has an Instagram feed. Thank you, Huckleberry. Thank you for all you do.

I would give a photo credit for the “don’t be alarmed” notice but I don’t know where this originally came from. Now I’m pondering the etiquette of providing a link to a twitter feed that doesn’t give photo credits. I don’t think I need to provide that link. 

Please be carful

My friend Mike encountered these warning flyers at the Old Zoo the other day.

I’m glad someone is putting up warnings, because I for one do not want to encounter a flaming baby or a ginger police demon. The most menacing thing I’ve ever seen at the Old Zoo at midnight is a roving gang of Pokemon Go hunters, but I don’t think I should press my luck.

It just stopped raining and I don’t consider myself particularly macho.

Photos by the ever-adventurous Mike Biggie

If you see Kay, tell her I’m not voting for her

When I was in high school, I wrote a humor column for the school paper. One column was about my not getting accepted to the college of my choice; against my advisor’s judgment, I titled the column “If You See Kay.” My advisor’s point was that I could have gotten away with it without much parental/administrational backlash (people actually read this newspaper, see) if I had bothered to set up a fictional “Kay” in the column, rather than just letting that dumb chestnut of a joke float unmoored in the headline. But I hadn’t bothered, and the paper came out the morning of the day I had a scholarship interview with my second-choice college’s representative… who just happened to be the principal of our high school, who had been fielding obscenity complaints from parents since lunchtime. I did not get that scholarship.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. My friend Lyman found this impassioned bit of electioneering up in San Francisco this weekend; he directed my attention to the fine print at the bottom. I’m guessing that this anti-Dan Neel committee definitely has meetings on Tuesdays, and could possibly be headed up by my old friend Kay. Good luck against this tarnishment, Dan. Kay can really fuck things up for a person.

I don’t know what’s in the bulb

I think someone is giving sidewalk chalk to grass/poison Pokemon.

I can’t read all of your message, Bulbasaur, but I am a little concerned by what I can read here. Don’t cut again!

Your vote counts, but has to use its fingers

Don’t worry; I’m not going to talk about the US presidential race. I could barely handle all the “fuck you”s that my unflattering Jollibee post engendered years ago, so there’s no way I’m going to take on something as obviously volatile as this year’s contest for the Oval Office. Instead, I’d like to take a moment to shine a light on some candidates for the US Senate that my fine state of California has on its ballot this year. If you’re like me, you know that these lower-ticket races are just as important as the big one, but there aren’t any Facebook memes about these candidates so you actually have to do a little homework to know who to vote for.

The big thing to know is that there are 34 aspirants vying for one seat. That is a pretty big field to get through. Thankfully, thirteen of those candidates couldn’t handle submitting candidate statements, so I will eliminate those guys right off the bat. As for the remaining 21, I am happy to say that the spectrum of opinions presented is wide indeed. Here are some of my favorites.

There’s the 70-year-old Eagle Scout:

the alarm clock:

the mysterious acronym enthusiast:

the mainstream Facebook president with driving core values:

the Christian who actually seems to embody good, decent values and somehow that’s very confusing to me in this day and age:

the … okay, this guy can go suck it with his Andrew Jackson nonsense:

the only candidate willing to speak up about mind control slavery (tl;dr: she is against it):

a beautiful video game unicorn:

and the guy I’m probably voting for:

So many different voices, almost too many choices! It’s such a breath of fresh air, isn’t it? I’m sure I’ll find someone who speaks for me. And you 13 who couldn’t turn in a statement? Try harder next time.

You can click on any photo to enlarge the image for ease of reading, or don’t. It doesn’t really matter.

 

Should have given their award to Uranian Willy

Perhaps eclipsed by some other Grammy-related controversy, Tenacious D’s win last night for Best Metal Performance has garnered its own chorus of gripes. Whatever. I feel like the world is one big chorus of gripes these days, but if you’re going to complain about Tenacious D winning this award, allow me to submit my own thoughts on the matter:

1. They were covering Dio.
2. They aren’t Jethro Tull.
3. The Grammys will never get this category right.
4. I’m sure Lemmy doesn’t give a shit about the Grammys.
5. Nor should you.
6. Whoever wrote the message below should win an award for Best Metal Performance. It could have been Kyle or Jack. You don’t know.

Back to divanity school

Benny and I got a “new” old couch a couple of weeks ago and have been wrestling with it ever since. Not literally wrestling, like in the backyard with 2x4s and barbed wire; we’ve just been puzzling about how it might fit in our lives. The problem is that it might be a little too comfortable. The support springs are all sprung out, it’s low to the ground, and it’s so deep that we need to build up the back rest with the twelve pillows it came with in order not to look like Lily Tomlin’s Edith Ann character sitting in her giant chair.

This couch would be excellent if we were twin pashas being fed grapes and fanned with ostrich feathers, but we’re not. So now we’re trying to figure out what to do with this couch. It really is a good couch, one that certainly does not merit discarding on the sidewalk. Apparently not all couches deserve such consideration. To wit, observe this specimen I saw down the street this afternoon:

That poor couch, just melting in the afternoon sun. What’s that note taped to it?

Ouch. Such a harsh judgment slapped on an already disrespected sofa. This kind of actually hurts. No, there is absolutely no way we are going to do that to our couch. Does anybody know any couchless pashas in the area?