Boingboing:

According to WrascalBC’s translation on this Vintage Ads post, the text on this Tokyo subway poster reads, “I look like Santa because you’ve had too much to drink. It’s only October. If you drink, be considerate of the other passengers.”

So now we know what Santa does the rest of the year. He gets fucking slizzard on Tokyo subway stations and pukes all up in his beard. Santa’s a good guy, but I don’t recommended sitting on his lap while he’s blasted. Normally he’s quite under control, but during states of impressive intoxication, he makes the unfortunate mistake of letting his Crotch Candy Cane run amok.

Beware.

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

“The machine-guns were screaming at us and we knew that we’d have to make a move. I mean, the Japanese were relentless and there ain’t no way that a couple of pie-eyed American twenty-somethings were going to stand a chance. I looked at Bill and I said ‘Bill, when the hell should we get out of this God-forsaken trench?’

“Well, I’ll tell ya what he said, Daryl, I’ll tell ya. Even with our good buddy James’ guts plastered all over the front of his uniform, Bill flashed me a smile and said ‘Yesterday.’

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I don’t know much about hip-hop, but I know that Aesop Rock is a wordslinger like no other. In the same week that another artist dropped an album with some shockingly self-indulgent tracks, Aesop Rock tossed a new video onto 900Bats that proves creative word play isn’t dead…it’s just cruisin’ around in a shady van.

Check out the video and be reminded of the fact that language-arts entertainment isn’t as static as the major labels would like you to believe.

One of the more ludicrous themes in recent porn flicks description is something like: “Three chicks being mean to a dude with hogtied BJ.” Every time, I can’t help but remark at the ridiculousness of this description. Let me tell you, Porn Descriptors of the World: three chicks on a dude is never mean and always awesome. Okay?

For that matter, three dudes on a dude is probably never anything but awesome. And three chicks on a chick is also probably never anything but awesome. Oh no! There’s a group of people tending to my sexual needs in an overwhelming quantity!

I mean, I’m sort of exempting any sort of BDSM or torture from my argument. If these chicks have tied down said dude and are lacerating his junk with pins and needles, okay, you got me. But almost every time, they just sit him down and then continue to reinforce the typical tropes porno, that admittedly is pretty cool to my ignorant ass.   “Oh no! There’s three girls! And they all want to touch my penis! It’s soooo mean!” Yeah, the dude is positively suffering. If anything, the most pain he’s experiencing is the pounding of his excited heart about to burst in his god dam chest.

Not buying it.

Courtesy of Royale No Cheese over at Mishka came this nearly day-altering video. Randy Moss is my favorite head case. And while we don’t and won’t talk the politics of sports and sport allegiances here at OL, I needed to post this. It’s straight-up dance, courtesy of Sir Randall “The Freak” “Probably A Bit Crazy” Moss, and DJ Steve Porter. Hit the jump to bask in it.

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It was Saturday evening, and I had just dropped my movie ticket into the toilet in a local movie theater’s bathroom. The toilet was filled with impressive, neon yellow piss. It was nearly glowing with a haunting lack of dilution. It was not my piss. I stared aghast, as the ticket began to sink into the yellow horror. I didn’t know what to do. For as gross as I am, I don’t traffic in Movie Theater Piss Play with strangers. I probably just let you down, huh?

I had been acting like an asshole, and that’s how it goes.

Lately I’ve been suffering a wonderful hypochondriac madness. I’ve been certain, for no good reason, that I have some sort of penis, testicular, groin-based cancer. For no good reason. This has led to me confusingly rubbing my balls every twenty minutes. Checking for lumps. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. So I just rub my balls in a madness, confirm that I can’t feel anything worthwhile, and go back to my life. Certain that I have some sort of nut cancer, I just can’t find it.

Welcome to my world.

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[Source: zero-lives via Gamefreaks]

I find the implications of a gorilla stealing a blond-haired, white princess to be horribly racist.

Or something.

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

Hours Later.

Sweating. Crying. Bleeding. It was at this moment that Riff began to reconsider the value of having stood up against the tyranny of Brady Moore.

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It only took seven episodes, but I am almost certain this season of Dexter has wrapped its murderous tendrils around my intrigue. This week’s episode, Circle Us, seemingly kicked off the beginning of the season’s sprint to the finish line. White-knuckled, butt-clenching excitement. Totally awesome, dudes. I suppose there is some truth to the axiom that my fellow Morgan watchers hammered into me: it’s a slow boil, it’s been every season, et cetera. And while I disagree on the macro level, since last season was a runaway train cart, it may be paying off in season five.

Excelsior! You win. Don’t ever say I don’t keep an open mind.

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