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Once a legitimate blog. Now just a collection of memes 'n menz.
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One week of break-in, and I’m loving these more and more. No regrets. They really are as good as everyone says they are.
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Prince: Purple Rain (1984)
One of my grails is to own this on purple vinyl, but sadly prices on the resale market remain astronomical.

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I was a huge fan of Ryan Murphy’s American Horror Story from the beginning, but I completely lost interest after the first episode of Season 12, Delicate. (I struggled to get through Season 5, Cult) and I almost gave up then, but I’m glad I came back and thoroughly enjoyed the second half of “Double Feature” Season 10, Death Valley.
My favorite seasons, however, were Season 3, Coven, Season 5, Hotel, and Season 7, Apocalypse. Of those, Coven is my all-time favorite. I loved the characters, the story, and the acting. All were stellar. (In fact I have our house labeled The Robichaux Academy (aka Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies).
So imagine my genuine excitement when I just read that the Coven universe is returning for Season 13—and Frances Conroy (along with most of the original case) will reprise her role as bitch witch of all bitch witches—Myrtle Snow.
Coming October 31st this year.
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I saw this on opening night at Cine Capri (the original location) in 1979. It left me so shaken I drove home constantly looking out the rear window at the bed of my truck to make sure nothing was there.
And don’t even get me started on Aliens (1985). I came home from that and turned on every light in the apartment and opened every door interior door!
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other98: trump’s latest whopper is that vandals took a knife to the new paint job at the Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool, and somehow the National Park Service, the cops, and half the press played along like that made sense. A deputy director swore in a court filing that the liner was “cut with a sharp knife or razor,” but anyone scrolling through the literally hundreds of photos out there can see that coating peeling and flaking off in chunks, with zero sign of a clean blade cut anywhere. Nobody grabs a knife when they want to strip paint off concrete, that is just not a thing that happens.
This is the gaslighting playbook we have watched for years now. trump says something insane, officials back him up, then the media repeats it like gospel, and the public is left wondering if they are the crazy one for noticing the obvious gap between the claim and the evidence. We saw it with the stolen 2020 election lie that still will not die, we saw it with the Haitians eating pets nonsense that got repeated on a debate stage, and we saw it after the rally shooting when his ear reportedly took a graze and somehow looked flawless days later with barely a mark, no real explanation given, and nobody in mainstream coverage pushed very hard on it. And on and on and on for ten damn years of this rambling maniac’s word being taken seriously.
Each time, the same pattern plays out. A claim with no real evidence gets stated, officials nod along, and the press treats repetition as confirmation instead of doing the basic work of checking it against what people can literally see with their own eyes. The whole scenario is right out of Orwell’s 1984 where he wrote, “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.”
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…it’s 1979 and I’m 21 again! 🥲 It’s Friday night and I’m getting ready to go out and meet my buddy Kent at Moon’s Truck for a night of dance, drink, and hopefully to catch the eye of a handsome stranger to round it all out with some unbridled debauchery. More often than not however, it would just be dance, drink, and slinking off to Denny’s on 7th Street for food at 3 am with the rest of the boys before heading home to finally get some sleep.
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An absolute masterpiece.




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Little Donny Fuckface pretty much exists in a state of permanent rage these days. he’s Big Mad at the whole world.
he’s mad at Antifa, because they keep dropping their foul algae into his beautiful Epstein Reflecting Pool. he’s mad at the tourists, because they keep touching the Pool with their grubby little peon hands. he’s mad at that fucking inflatable frog, because it won’t stop mocking him
he’s mad at Iran, because they keep forgetting they’re supposed to lose his don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on them.
and he’s mad at Obama, because he’s always mad at Obama. how dare a black man be so handsome and cool.
but right now, there’s no one Donny’s madder at than Senate Republicans.
yesterday morning, those selfsame Senate Reps had gussied up Statuary Hall, because Preznit Fuckwit was coming over to sign their shiny new bipartisan housing legislation.
look at how pretty they made it. lookit all them flags.
and that’s the exact moment Donny chose to be all ‘fuck those fucking flags, straight up the old patoot.’
Today’s Housing News Conference and Signing is hereby cancelled until such time as we pass the desperately needed SAVE AMERICA ACT, which I consider to be a National Emergency. Thank you for your attention to this matter! President DJT
and that, my friends, is the main reason Donny’s all knicker-twisted at the Senate GOP. they refuse to pass his ‘Save America Act’ — which, you’ll be shocked to learn, does nothing at all to ‘save America.’ it’s really a more of a ‘save Donny’s rancid ass act,’ because what it actually does is allow Dear Leader to fuck with the upcoming midterm elections and tip the scales in his favor.
Senate Republican won’t even put the Save America bill up for a vote, because they know that Democrats will filibuster the thing straight into the Phantom Zone. which brings us to the second thing Donny’s mad at the GOP for: they refuse to shitcan the filibuster.
by the way, at the same time Donny was not-tweeting his tantrum, he also not-tweeted this:
MY REAL POLL NUMBERS ARE THE HIGHEST THEY HAVE EVER BEEN. THANK YOU!!! President DJT
this poll was conducted by the very reputable firm These Voters Are Definitely In The Room With Us Right Now, which happens to be headquartered inside Donny’s own fat head.
now here’s where our narrative gets super fucking childish, because of course it does. this is a story about Dear Leader and Republicans. how could it not get infantile?
at 1pm, Donny did show up at the Senate — but it wasn’t because he’d had a change of heart about signing the housing bill. it was so he could hold a behind-closed-doors shout-fest with his own party.
Inside that closed-door lunch, Senator Bill Cassidy stood up and began yelling at the President of the United States. Trump told him to sit down. He refused. Trump called him a lunatic. Cassidy called him brother. Trump told him he was not his brother. And still, the shouting continued, until the senators sitting beside Cassidy quietly urged him to sit down.
here’s how one anonymous Republican described it to NOTUS:
He’s having a fucking tantrum.
holy shitballs, Batman. the Senate doesn’t need a Majority Leader — it needs a nun with a ruler.
Republicans have every right to be pissed off at Donny right now. first of all, he cancelled that bill-signing without giving them any advance warning — while they were in the middle of holding a press conference about it — making them all look like dipshits.
French Hill touts bipartisan Housing Bill, as Trump cancels signing mid-conference: “Let’s show the American people what legislating looks like…We did that in conjunction with President Trump and his priorities.”
and make no mistake, The 21st Century ROAD to Housing Act is a good bill.
The bill increases housing supply, cuts red tape and outdated environmental review requirements that slow down construction, and restricts large institutional investors, the ones who own 350 or more single-family homes, from buying up even more of the housing stock. It also creates grant programs to help local governments reform zoning, supports rural and manufactured housing, and expands small-dollar mortgage access.
the bill passed the Senate 85 to 5, and the House 358 to 32.
faceless corporations driving up the cost of housing by buying up all available stock and turning it into rental properties — preventing We the People from ever becoming homeowners — is a serious problem in America right now, and this bill would finally address the issue.
for once in their evil little lives, Republicans actually committed a Responsible Governing and did something that benefits We the People — and here comes Donny, to clownfuck it all straight into the dumpster, because he’s a colicky piss-baby hell-bent on score-settling.
Republicans don’t need Donny fucking with their shit right now. they’re fighting for their political lives, and it’s all Dear Leader’s fault. none of the crap that Donny’s inflicted on America is popular, and voters are taking it out on the GOP. Republicans needed this bill to get signed into law. they needed something to brag about to their pissed-off constituents.
as I wrote on February 24,
aside from the brain-dead cultists for whom Dear Leader can never ever do wrong, nobody voted for any of the fascist shit going on right now.
nobody voted for the historic and stately East Wing to be demolished so that Donny can replace it with some vulgar Epstein Dance Hall — and speaking of Donny’s dead pedo bestie, nobody voted for the continuing cover-up of a massive pedophile ring.
nobody voted for off-the-charts corruption and greed.
nobody voted for masked ICE thugs teargassing children, and murdering anyone who looks at them funny. nobody voted for innocent immigrants to be disappeared off the streets and shipped off to far-away slave-labor gulags.
nobody voted for our allies to be insulted and ignored, or for Ukraine to be thrown to the wolves, or for Greenland to be perpetually harassed, or for Venezuela to become a vassal state.
nobody voted for the price of everything continuing to skyrocket — especially when Donny promised bring all that shit down on Day One.
and I wrote that three days before Donny started his unprovoked, unnecessary and illegal don’t-you-dare-call-it-a-war on Iran, closing down the Strait of Hormuz and spiking the price of gas. nobody voted for that shit, either.
oh, and I’ve got a message for all these Republicans who are now running around with their hair on fire because their reelection prospects just went fuckity-bye:
boo fucking hoo — because now comes the part where We the People throw our heads back in laughter.
you did this to yourselves. you sealed your fate when you abdicated your constitutionally-mandated role as a check on the presidency, and gave this fascist fuckface free reign to do whatever the hell he wanted, never once blocking any of his shit-brained schemes.
incoherent tariffs? go for it, Dear Leader. unconstitutional executive orders? you do you, bro. fire all the experts and replace them with morons? sounds good to us. prosecute political enemies? knock yourself out. kick millions of people off their healthcare so that gazillionaires can have another tax cut? have at it. wage illegal wars and alienate all our allies? what could possibly go wrong?
and now it’s too late to undo the damage Donny has wrought on your political futures, and you’re all so, so sad.
here you go, GOP. enjoy a round of tiny violin.
meanwhile, Donny remains laser-focused on the issues that are really important.
reporter: “buying a home is unattainable for so many Americans. is this election legislation more important to you than resolving the housing crisis?”
Trump: “every election is important. we’re doing very well. they want a lot of communists to come in … and this country is not going to have communists.”
I would love for one reporter to ask Donny ‘what’s a communist?’ I’d love it almost as much as I’d love for some reporter to finally win my What The Fuck Is Wrong With You Challenge™, which I must point out is now in its 2,277th day.
oh wait, did I say up at the top of this post that Donny’s mad at everyone? that’s not actually true. there’s one person whom Donny is head-over-heels smitten with.
get your barf-bag ready, because I’m talking about that weird stalker who’s attached herself to Donny like some fucked-up barnacle. I’m talking about Natalie Harp.
[I first read that as “The president banged his 34-year old personal assistant,” which is probably more accurate than the original statement. – MA]
The president bragged that his 34-year-old personal assistant, who rarely leaves his side, is “the only one who loved him as much as his wife and his kids.”
eww.
news flash for Donny: Ms. Harp loves you a whole lot more than the Slovenian rent-a-wife who married you for your money, never smiles in your presence, recoils at your touch, and refuses to share your bed. she doesn’t love you at all.
neither do your children.
this is going to be my closing message for the foreseeable future:
practice self-care. do what you need to do to keep sane. if that means you need to disengage with my daily posts for a while, I get it. this community of ours will still be here when you return.
to all the people who have signed on in the days since the election, welcome aboard. settle in as we all try to deal with the shitfuckery that’s ahead of us.
we are all in this together, and we are all here for each other.
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Damn, I’m old.
Alan Parsons Project: Tales of Mystery and Imagination (1976)
And thus began my love affair with the music of APP…
I first heard this at my buddy Gary’s house the summer immediately following our high school graduation. He had, in my mind, an absolutely killer system: a Kenwood KR-7400 receiver, Infinity 1001A Speakers, and a Technics SL-1400 turntable. I remember sitting there just mesmerized as this album played.
Gary and I had been friends since grade school. I remember him being a brilliant kid and we shared the same dry sense of humor as we moved into high school. We stayed in contact for years after graduation. He worked in high school as a stock boy for one of the local supermarket chains, and as I understand it, he went on—following the American dream of old—of rising up in the ranks, eventually becoming store—and later regional—manager.
We lost touch after I moved to Tucson in ’85. Though a mutual friend we briefly reconnected via email a couple years ago, exchanging photos and a brief outline of what had happened in our lives over the past 40-odd years. I never heard back from him after the second round of emails, but he seemed uninterested in rekindling our friendship. I have a feeling that in the intervening years he—like so fucking many of my absolute best friends from that period—had found religion and/or taken a political hard right and judged my lifestyle unacceptable. (There’s a reason you can never go home again.) But I’ll always be grateful to him for introducing me to the Alan Parsons Project.
*There are a couple different dates on the internet as to when this album was officially released, but I’m going with this one.
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Seal off the maid’s room from the laundry/wash porch. Get rid of the maid’s room bath and closet opening to the bedroom. Take that space and turn it into a nice en suite and walk-in closet. Seal off the existing bath that connects to the bedroom and turn it into a nice half bath that opens to the entry hall. Remove the wall between the kitchen and dining room and make it an “open concept” area.
The second floor seems to work as it is. Wouldn’t touch a thing.
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I guess I’m kind of weird in that in addition to keeping friends’ and family’s birthdays in my calendar, I also keep note of their passing. (It probably stems from having lost so many to the ravages of AIDS in the 80s and 90s.) Today I noticed it’s been thirty nine years—thirty nine years—since my friend and mentor Kent Kelly departed this planet.
I was set to raise a glass and wax poetic about what Kent meant to me and how he influenced my life, but realized I’d already written extensively of our quirky relationship several years ago, so if you’re interested go check that out. I guess that only leaves the raising of the glass and maybe posting a couple additional pix…


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Alan Parsons Project: Ammonia Avenue (1984)
While this wasn’t the first album I bought on CD, it was among the first half dozen for sure and was the one I most vividly remember playing the fuck out of after I got it. Don’t Answer Me and Pipeline at angelic, make-your-ears-bleed volume. That front-and-center sax riff in Pipeline…chef’s kiss. That’s all I can say.
One of these days I need to make a compilation Minidisc of nothing but the instrumental cuts from APP’s albums.
Pet Shop Boys: Please (1986)
The soundtrack of my life for the first few months I lived in San Francisco.
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I’m starting to believe the 80s were when we reached both peak film and music and we never realized it.
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When I was still young(ish) enough to be frightened by movies.
I came home and slept with the light on in my walk-in closet.
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