Image Macros

 
        Oh, hi there. Welcome to my happy hole. That's what I call my blog silly. Why, what did you think I meant? Oh my dear heavens no, you are such a silly goose. No. I call that my passion pit.
        Today we are going to talk about image macros, but knowing you you are far too lazy and unattractive to bother clicking on the link, so I'll just tell you it's a picture with superimposed text, i.e. what you are looking at, you disgusting, indolent swine.
        Some things that are funny today will not be funny, say, a hundred years from now. I predict that in a hundred years the cast of Jersey Shore will be the subject of anthropological study, so Snooki and her gaper will have become academic and thus completely unfunny. I also predict that death will no longer be funny because they will be able to store people's souls on flash drives and we will all be effectively immortal. But image macros will never stop being funny, ever. And until they figure out this whole soul storage deal we will all be sent straight to Hell, where we will be forced to watch King of Queens.
        As the article you didn't bother to read insinuated, image macros have been around for over 9000 years. Things like the Hindenburg disaster and Idi Amin happened at least 100 years ago, and would be lucky to still be funny a decade from now. On second thought Idi Amin will always be funny. Especially if they start making image macros of him.

        Once when I was trapped in a Chilean mine for 69 days I had a lot of time to reflect on shit, and that was when it occurred to me that image macros are a form of narrative. They tell a story, and the possibilities are endless as to what kind of story they will tell. Often the story is completely different from what the picture alone says. For example, without the text this picture would probably say to you something to the effect of, "Hi, my name is Relapse-a-Trey. I just played the same few notes for 73 hours straight and I gotta tell ya I am bored as fucking tits up here!"

Relapse-a-Trey. If you get this I just lost a lot of respect for you

        But when it is transmogrified into a macro we learn that the little ginger boy in the picture has just had a mind-bottling orgasm, probably brought on by the sheer virtuosity of his own sucking, and it turns out to be a happy story rather than a sad or at least frustrating one.
        I would say that image macros are probably my favorite thing ever, other than sex, ninjas, and ninja pornography, and this one time at Great Woods when they played a sixty-minute "Runaway Jim" with "Twist" teases at the thirty-eight-minute mark. I'm not gonna lie and say I don't have some Phish shows on my iPod, but I also have DeBarge so so much for my credibility. Buenos dias putas. Merci beaucoup.

        
        
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Your Band Sucks

        A long time ago, when the internet was little more than four or five nerds exchanging hentai and yelling at eachother in leetspeak, there was a site called Something Awful. There is still a site called that but I am talking about long ago, back when myspace was the shit, back when Goatse was shocking, back when I had a soul patch, you get the idea. It was around that time that a great man named Dr. David Thorpe embarked on a mission to be the biggest dickhead in all of music criticism, a maneuver roughly equivalent in difficulty to pogoing on a frozen corpse to the top of Mount Everest. So he began writing a column for Something Awful called Your Band Sucks--and by God, he pulled it off.

        Today I am going to attempt to write a Your Band Sucks article, because the world hasn't seen one since 2007, and I think we're long overdue. Thorpe seems to have been busy doing markedly less amusing work for the Boston Phoenix, but I can forgive him for that. I presume he's getting paid, and I presume he's getting laid, and he certainly wasn't doing either of those when he was writing for Something Awful. Anyway, I appreciate the opportunity I have given myself and I will do my best.

        I think I'll start with Linkin Park, because I just saw an article about them that was totally surreal. In it, the author compares their new album to Radiohead's Kid A. I haven't heard the new Linkin Park album, of course, but guess what, it isn't comparable. It's comparable to a lot of things, I'm sure. Ulcerative colitis comes to mind. And I don't need to hear it to know that because it's fucking Linkin Park, and they suck with the force of one hundred Paris Hiltons. They could suck the oceans dry and just keep right on sucking. Ironically their suckiness is shimmering and eternal.
        Some of you probably hold the belief that they do not suck and are in fact good. If that is the case, then it is of the utmost importance that you read the rest of this and take it to heart, because the future of our civilization might hang in the balance. I have good reason to believe that the continued popularity of bands such as Linkin Park could very well cause God to pwn us all with an asteroid the size of Delaware. So please take heed of this.

       Let me give you a play by play of a typical Linkin Park song. The one dipshit begins singing in this soft, ghostly voice, sounding all melancholy and distant, and then the other dipshit begins screaming the chorus, sounding like Daffy Duck being castrated. And there are probably some shitty Casio bleep-beep-boops in there somewhere. Their music is targeted at inarticulate, angst-ridden 13-year-olds who are dumb enough to believe that intentional misspelling = cleverness, and primitive histrionics = depth of emotion.

        If Linkin Park would in some way wink at rest of us, if they would concede to us using words adolescents don't know that they are basically the Degrassi: The Next Generation of bands, then I might believe they had one iota of intelligence. But since they so clearly take themselves seriously and believe they have actual merit, I am forced to conclude that they suffer from severe fucktardation, also known as buttersnap shitfuckery of the mind. And I suspect that the Asian one also has Down's.

        Wow, that was easy, but then again that band is so terrible that their suckiness is practically scientific fact. I need a little more of a challenge now. I think my next move will be to go after those darlings of pseudo-intellectuals, quasi-hipsters, people who would like to be "artsy" but have no artistic talent, yuppie twats, and members of the cast of Friends, who obviously encompass all of those qualities. I am talking of course about the Counting Crows. Let me start off by confessing that for two weeks when I was thirteen I thought they were the shit. Perhaps it was because Adam Duritz looks exactly like Junior Gorg from Fraggle Rock, and I used to love that show, but I think it had more to do with the fact that I was a stupid little faggot.

        The biggest problem with Adam Duritz is that he tries way too fucking hard. Ok dude, we get that you are a hopeless romantic. We get that you have wanted to be famous really badly. Stop caterwauling and flailing about like you're at fucking Jesus Camp. And take off that weave while you're at it you fake ass motherfucker. I honestly think that the band was just a plot hatched by Duritz for the cynical purpose of fucking actresses. Well it worked you asshole. And the entire Western World is a little bit dumber for it.

        Well that shit was even easier than the last one. I was supposed to be challenging myself but it seems that's going to be harder than I thought. Maybe next time I'll go after a band I like. On second thought that would make me as lacking in integrity as Adam fucking Duritz. Peace I'm out. 

"You are the pineapple of my head, you are my artificial dreads"

 
               
           

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