two-twenty

blogfucking the hand you bit from • post/haste

Those five of you who have kept up with our feeble web site may remember when, a few weeks back, two-twenty admonished Gawker editrix Jessica to be more funny. Of course, biting the hand that clearly inspired you and that you flagrantly mimic being the delicate operation that it is, our critique was buried in a pile of kudos for the Gawker Media Empire (we don't want to be disinvited to our favorite fellow-WASP Flintlock's next birthday party). We suggested the time-tested cure-all for self-styled comedians (and -iennes) everywhere (no, not hyphenated words; not parenthetical asides, either): monkeys are always funny!

Seems today that Jessica took our advice:

We heard from our pet monkey... [that] since their breakup, Brad and Jennifer have been staying at [an unnamed Beverly Hills hotel] with some frequency. They always arrive and leave separately, but isn’t it an interesting coincidence that the two always seem to be staying at the hotel on the very same nights?

We don’t know why we didn’t mention this earlier. Must’ve slipped our minds — we’ve been really busy lately. But isn’t our monkey cute? His name is Frank.

Now THAT's comedy! We approve. But, being the nitpickers that we are, we have to point out that we would have named the monkey "Murray".

Brad Pitt, Jennifer Aniston, And Our Monkey | Gawker
big ups and beat downs: gawker edition | two-twenty

seller beware | joanna • post/haste

Ash spotted the following item on ebay yesterday in his never-ending search for a proper desk chair (do you have one?).

It was listed as being "vintage art deco" which -- as it clearly is not -- sent me into one of my muttering spells, and caused Ash to translate that to a missive...

"my girlfriend says youre an idiot and it is not an art deco chair and it is a scandanavian 50's chair. she says you're a dufus and thinks that you must have no education. she also said that the chair is ugly like its owner probably is."

The seller's response?

"Your girl friend is probably right, i will update my listing. It is ugly, that is why i am selling it."

Just imagine this guy on a date generated from a personal ad.

vintage art deco chair | ebay

how ash and i spent a rainy saturday afternoon | joanna • post/haste

I know I should start this off all shoe-gazy and foot-twisting with a bullshit excuse for two-twenty's not-so-bizarre disappearance, but now is not the time. No, now is the time to share a mini-project that Ash and I completed in just under four hours on this rainy Saturday afternoon...

eBay item 5515535081 (Ends Aug-28-04 14:47:27 PDT) - Hwa's Crap

Please bid, even though we're canceling the auction before it ends.

a trivial pursuit • post/haste

Our answers to Manhattan User's Guide's Quiz, because we apparently have nothing better to do -- or have nothing we'd prefer to do.

Q. What was the department store at Fifth Avenue and 34th Street?
A. B. Altman (now a branch of the New York Public Library)

Q. At the U.S. Open, the main court of the National Tennis Center in Queens is named for whom?
A. Arthur Ashe

Q. Who is the mother of CNN anchor Anderson Cooper?
A. Gloria Vanderbilt

Q. Who is the father of The Strokes lead singer Julian Casablancas?
A. John Casablancas, founder of Elite model agency (and perhaps, a lech)

Q. Louis Sullivan designed one building in NY. What is it?
A. The Bayard-Condict building, on Bleecker Street

Q. Which Italian family took over the Rainbow Room and closed it to the public (except one night a week)?
A. Cipriani

Q. What word has The Daily Show with Jon Stewart coined to refer to the war in Iraq?
A. "The War on Error"

Q. What club features a mermaid swimming in an aquarium?
A. Coral Room

Q. Which highly-regarded restaurateur has named three of his restaurants after NYC parks?
A. Danny Meyer (Union Square Cafe, Eleven Madison Park, Gramercy Tavern)

Q. What was the name of the beloved city magazine in the 1980s, edited by Adam Moss?
A. 7 Days

Q. What crime was Leona Helmsley convicted of?
A. Tax evasion

Q. Re-spell Gawker writer Choire Sicha's name as it's pronounced.
A. Corey Seek-a

Q. Which stage and screen actor made his debut in Harvey Fierstein's "Torch Song Trilogy"?
A. Matthew Broderick, who went on to appear in the film

the worms crawl out • post/haste

The Tumbleweed Pet Poo Converter we bought last week finally arrived today, providing two-twenty with approximately thirty minutes of excitement, and, hopefully, enough dog-shit-to-worm-shit fertilizer for a lifetime.

Installation went relatively well. After deciphering the instructions (which were written in Australian), Joanna decorated prepared the worm's new home by lining it with last Sunday's Style Section, followed by a layer of dirt.

Alex was responsible for worm relocation...

because worms freak Joanna out.

So here they are.

We'll let you know how it goes.

random thoughts: why can't we all just get along edition • post/haste

This is so true: no time to blog is the new black. Two-twenty is ashamed to be a part of yet another apathy-related trend associated with our generation, though we are also smugly pleased to find ourselves once again, through absolutely no effort of our own, on the cutting edge of the blogosphere (and the next time you try to slice a tomato with a sphere as opposed to your trusty ginsu, you'll get a pretty fair idea of this cutting edge's overall utility).

So, we apologize, blah blah blog. Spring is here, projects are in the works, the freelance world is showing signs of life, and as always we are faced with alcohol to be drunk, hangovers to muddle through, friends to see, enemies to avoid, and etc. et. al. as well. The international backdrop of seriously depressing shit before which we are now forced to act out our meagre passion plays has also, perhaps, caused our more frivolous creative streams to dry up a bit, in anticipation of a long, hot summer of deception, diplomatic fumbling, scapegoating and mudslinging. So much to look forward to. Speaking of which: Rumsfeld to Army: "We're proud of you." Army to Rumsfeld: "Fuck off."

Disturbing media trend: yesterday, early in the day, stills from the Berg decapitation video shown in the mainstream media pictured only the rank of five masked men standing behind a kneeling Berg. By the end of the day, FOXNews Channel was playing the video and stopping it just as the central figure (now identified as al Qaeda-linked Musab al-Zarqawi) pulled a knife from beneath his shirt. Today, foxnews.com posts a still image on its front page of the presumed al-Zarqawi holding Berg's hair in one hand, and bringing the knife towards his neck with the other. We (or that portion of two-twenty who could stomach it, anyway) have watched the video, available at Salon and, oddly, through Ultragrrrl. It is not pretty. More importantly, it blurs the issues at stake in Iraq by pumping up an "Us vs. Them" mentality. Just as last week the images of American GIs abusing Iraqi prisoners pumped up a similar mentality in the Arab world. In other words, this can only end badly.
 
Speaking of the prison abuse scandal, a beautiful irony resides in the administration's response. The neocon fuckheads who espouse a Straussian philosophy, heavy on the Plato's Republic, and who insist that they should be entrusted to protect the masses by any means necessary (including lying to the public) due to their moral superiority and supreme personal responsibilty, are the same neocon fuckheads who are immediately willing to hang the blame for Abu Ghraib on a few bumblefucks from West fucking Virginia. I hope one of those poor slobs gets a decent lawyer and this whole thing blows up in Rumsfeld's patrician lap. Smug hypocritical fuck.

Speaking of neocon fuckheads, it is becoming abundantly clear that these true believers are just as self-importantly delusional as all of the lefty utopian idealists of the sixties and seventies. The only difference is that rather than dreaming of an impossible world where everyone gets along, they dream of an impossible world where everyone gladly lies down and places their neck beneath the jack-booted foot of sanctimonious zealots (and then asks if they can please lick the dirt off). Happily, it is this delusional aspect of their thinking that, after destroying any semblance of international stability, may finally bring the neocons down. To wit.

Anyway. How 'bout them Sox? Or Yanks? Whatever.

from the home office of nyc | joanna • post/haste

The Top Ten Reasons I'm Happy to Be Back Home in New York City

10. No longer having to pretend that I'm talking to someone on my mobile phone to prevent strange men from chatting me up on the street.

9. Seeing no signs to acknowledge or ignore instructing me not to flush any paper products whatsoever -- including toilet paper -- down the toilet.

8. No more being surrounded by drunk Australians (though I do very much miss one in particular).

7. The opportunity to use crazy fast wireless whenever I want without feeling obliged to shell out a fortune on Momos or espressos at the Four Seasons Istanbul.

6. Being able to buy well-made cocktails almost anywhere that contain vodka that is not Smirnoff. Don't get me wrong, as far as domestic big-brand beer goes, Efes is top notch, but a woman's gotta switch it up from time to time.

5. Bacon. Bacon, bacon, bacon.

4. Having the chance to finally play with the loot I bought at the Grand and Egyptian Bazaars. Already overhauled the living room; will play guess-which-spice-I-bought-when-I-was-freaking-out-from-the-variety later.

3. Wearing a clean pair of jeans. The ones I brought to Istanbul/Cannakale/Gallipoli became so dirty that I have (maybe) finally broken my habit of wiping my hands on my jeans to clean or dry them.

2. Hanging out with my effing cool friends.

1. Reuniting with Atlas, beagle extraordinaire.

(Special note to Uncle Tommy: thanks for taking care of the old lady. Your fellow Taurus celebrates her ninth birthday on Wednesday and has specified that you are not obligated to buy her so much as a bone, so grateful is she for your presence while mum and dad were away).

ahh the four seasons | joanna • post/haste

not going to bother typing properly (sorry alex) because:

1) over the past seventy-two hours i've slept approximately ten
2) i'm on my third "momo" -- some kind of vodka lemon/lime/mint concoction -- and feeling a little fun-ky
3) i am a spiteful rebel

at the four season again after spending three days on the road covering the anzac day party in gallipoli. for all you non-initiated (be happy), think spring-break-meets-veterans day. shitloads of aussies boozing it up, first in istanbul, then on the aegean coast, purportedly as some kind of commemoration of their ancestors who fought during world war one. seriously nasty shit. see?

uncle tommy sent the following link, i'm guessing because he was trying to figure out what the hell i'm doing here.

Anzac Day - home page

like its australian for anzac sites, it says nothing of the booze-infused lust convoy that is "doing anzac day".

anyway, in other news, ash's travel wallet -- containing his passport and cash for iraq -- was swiped/went missing en route to eceabac (that's australian for last-stop-for-alcohol-and-hotel-before-gallipoli). tomorrow he has to fly to effing ankara to get a new one.

battery's gone into the red zone, kids. not sure what tomorrow will hold but i'm thinking another trip to the spice bazaar. roasted paprika. already got some but the idea of running out of it kept me awake (when i had to) during the wee hours before dawn on april 25th.

stick a fork in this turkey, it's done • post/haste

Received this cryptic email from Ash yesterday, titled "Istanbul Keyword List 20040421":

Efes, pilsener, beer, raki, milky, petrol, weird smells, silk road, bazaar, rugs, carpets, kilims, ikats, textiles, lots, many, masses, antique, fake, ugly, bright, old, pile, shag, bushy, eyebrows, mono brow, unibrow, stinky, [deleted to protect the innocent], [deleted to avoid firebombing of two-twenty], [deleted to avoid an international incident], Arab, Turk, Turkmen, liars, Euros, dollars, lira, credit cards, credit, African express, tea, beverage, chai, cha, cucumbers, raw, dirty, street, evil, corn, baked, popped, booze, alcohol, hangover, aspegic, asprin, pain, hangover, abuse, alcoholic, hotel, Kybele, lamps, small, intimate, cosy, quirky, museum, harem, mike, mike's place, mike's museum, hairy, sleazy, lair, women, lots, many, masses, Canadian, Canadian woman, ugly, weird, annoying, stupid, dunce, dumb, dork, crazy, nipple, under, beneath, covers, violated, rape, pester, battery, assault, stalk, annoy, harass, harangue, Turkish, locals, boys, men, testosterone, western women, western, easy, put out, make sex, capitulate.

Right. So, there you have it. Best of luck to all involved.

greetings from istanbul | joanna • post/haste

Sitting in the posh garden cafe at the Four Seasons Hotel in finally-sunny Istanbul awaiting what surely is the only expensive cup of espresso available in the city. Oh, the waiter just brought me my orange juice... with cookies!

Our lovely but distinctly less swishy hotel -- the Hotel Kybele -- offers slug slow internet access, so it's taken the allure of WiFi to get my ass over here. Uh huh, and you just thought I'd snuck off for a bit of luxury. Well, high speed access is a luxury, I suppose. At least here.

Anyway, it's almost five pm, and the prayer just started. Would write that it's taken getting used to, but somehow it hasn't. Culture shock has been minimal, or at least in small, short waves. Biggest moment came a few moments in the New Mosque when I respectfully donned a scarf before entering. Thing is, it's tough for me to separate the creepy feeling I experienced then from the sense of ick I always feel when entering places of worship. Have decided that I’m an equal opportunity religionist. And that regardless of how beautiful a church or synagogue or mosque purportedly is inside, from now on, I'm staying out. Discomfort level higher than curiosity.

Four Seasons is located just past the Aya Sofia and the Blue Mosque. Prayer louder here.

And now, because I'm not sure how long it will take before the hotel's threat of charging me $24 for 24 hours of access will remain idle, a random list of observations/experiences from the last few days...

Wait, before I go on, Four Seasons stereo creating mesh-up of prayer and Grand Master Flash. Maybe it's okay because he's a Grand Master? Okay.

Egyptian Spice Bazaar today. Bazaars here are crazy. Realized that the West has removed most of the humanity from the shopping experience. Here it's like being way-back-when, only the products, well, some of them, have changed. That and they take credit cards.

Commerce everywhere. Impossible to walk the street without having someone try to get you in his store. Favorite enticement so far, "Come in! I can help you spend your money!". So direct.

Walked the streets here on my own for the first time. The men's eyes scarcely graze me when I'm with Ash -- we saw a guy getting kicked on the street, most likely for something having to do with the woman who screamed as she watched -- but alone, they don't just look, they stare and ask questions and practically stalk me.

Two nights ago, I'm pretty sure three separate men thought I was a prostitute. Ash was a step ahead of me on the phone, and one guy actually slowed down his car and rolled down his window. We were off to a nice restaurant so I was sporting a dress. The hemline was not that short, I swear.

Came back to the hotel that night and stopped by to visit Mike, one of the Kybele's owners, in his low ceilinged lair. Place is his pussy palace. We entered to find one woman asleep under one of the many multi-colored textiles that adorn his futon. He sat between her and another, fondling her nipple under the covers while he entertained us. "You look cold," he said pointing to my bare legs. "I'm fine, Mike." "No, no, it's not that I don't want to see your legs, they are lovely legs, but you are cold." Next thing I knew he'd covered them with a blanket. So it goes.

More later, maybe tomorrow. I'm getting cold.

you'll get nothing and like it! | alex • post/haste

Or, more to the point, you'll get very little and probably feel somewhat lukewarm about it. Joanna and Ash are away in Turkey for the next two weeks, documenting some Australian youth trend involving Bacchanalia and the movie Galipoli. Yours truly is very busy with a lot of work, a change in my friendster status, and the beginning of sailing season. In other words, two-twenty is going to have to take a bit of a back seat for a couple weeks. I'll still shoot for daily or near-daily posts, but remember: he who pins his hopes on degenerate drunks is often disappointed. For the time being, a few quick hits:

• The tiny, booze-soaked hamlet of Blogovia was well represented in the paper of record this weekend: witness this ode to Wonkette, as well as a scorchingly honest appraisal of celebutante v.1.0 Plum Sykes’ recent venture into the shallow end of the literary pool, written by the incorrigible Choire Sicha.

• It is with great pleasure that I walk about the city this week and hear New Yorkers recite with almost religious fervor, “It’s only April. It’s only April.” I think, in light of last season’s rather spectacular ending, that I will refuse to take the high road and respond with a simple, “Suck that A Rod, beeyotch!” (I mean that in the nicest possible way, obvs.) For more gloating, turn to The Web Presence, who really ought to be posting very soon about last weekend's three-for-four performance by the Sox.

• The Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest celebrates and rewards those dark impulses that drive Darwinian rejects to put pen to paper. The Lyttle Lytton Awards celebrates, and rewards adherents to, the old adage, “If it’s so bad that it’s good, then by all means let it be brief.” The winner of this year’s “most atrocious first line to a novel… 25 words or less”:

This is the story of your mom's life.
- R. Lambert

My favorite of the runners-up, who were each given some sort of specially named achievement award apparently related to past winners, in-jokes, or complete strangers (in this case, the recipient of the “Berman Prize”):

I know who the murderer is, Kevin blogged.
- S. Kurruk

Of course, this being an election year, a special category had to be added, wherein contestants essayed to compose the most hilariously bad opening line to a political speech imaginable (needless to say, they had some stiff competition form the pros this year). The winner:

While my opponents fellate the Satan of special interests, I go down on Reform's compassionate angel.
- Anonymous

See all the winners here.

• Joanna sends the following in from abroad: as if "dogging" weren't enough, brits now claim to be "toothing", a form of near-anonymous, no strings attached sex enabld by Bluetooth technology. This isn't your daddy's commute, this is the "who's your daddy!?" commute...

So, chew on that for a while and leave us in peace. None of you probably even check in here in person anymore, now that you're all part of the Kinja clone army...

you know you're broke when... | alex • post/haste

Somewhat related to the below post. Yesterday evening i was walking through Union Square after work and i passed someone who looked really familiar. I went through the usual mental gymnastics-- old classmate... friend of friend's friend... member of the Real World cast from 3-7 seasons ago... extra in Bukkake Animal Gangbang 17... you know the drill. Nothing. Then I realized... he was one of the regular Happy Hour bartenders at Welcome to the Johnsons. This probably isn't the right time to admit that I had a dream about the Cherry Tavern special the other night, huh?

two-twenty update • post/haste

Why we have been bad turtlers:

1. project date-our-flatmate has officially concluded: alex changed his friendster page
2. joanna and ash are leaving friday to work on a story in istanbul
3. ash leaves istanbul ten days later for iraq
4. alex, joanna, and ash dilly-dally at traffic intersections during sunday afternoon bar crawls, unintentionally (?) eating up whatever time hasn't already been usurped by drinking beer or by activities related to items 1-3

hello kitty v 1.0.1b • post/haste

To paraphrase a Chinese proverb (which we so wish was Japanese), show a man a Hello Kitty water pipe; you have delighted him for today. Teach a man to make a Hello Kitty water pipe; you have delighted him for a lifetime.

Dane, one of our treasured readers and a two-twenty disciple, if you will (though you probably shouldn't), put our ingenuity to the test. In his own words:

My girlfriend sent me your link and jokingly said to make it in my spare time. which of course i never have, so i made spare time and actually did it. It took me 2 diff sanrio stores to find the necessary components. i made a few changes. Note the pink tube so u wont notice the smoke stained plastic. I used a glass bowl i had in a junk drawer for 7 years! the blue matched the flowers perfectly. I drilled a carb over the copyright mark on the back. My girlfriend never smokes but couldnt say no this one! thanks for a good joke! i bet you could sell these things though!

So, thanks for following us down the rabbit kitty hole, Dane. Two-twenty applauds your improvements upon our original concept by using a pink tube, and appreciates you for proving what our initial testing indicated: no one, not even those who gave up the wacky tabbacky long ago because even the smallest hit induces an oh-fuck panic attack, can resist the lure of The Kitty.

P.S.
We neglected to mention in our original How-To that unless you go Dane's alternate route, you'll also need a "down tube with bowl" to insert into the plastic sleeve (fashioned, as you no doubt remember, from the Hello Kitty Flower Power Rocket Eraser Pack) in front of Kitty's nose. The only advantage to the "down tube" design is that it negates the need to drill a second hole for use as a "carb". We do, however, note that Dane's technique just happens to do away with the Sanrio copyright stamp...

pity the fools • post/haste

This will be two-twenty's last post ever.

Yeah, yeah, we're full of shit. April Fool's and all that.

We tried to think of a clever prank, we really did. But then we stopped thinking.

So, as we see it, the joke's on us.

ecce tabula rasa | joanna • post/haste

I finished cleaning my desk. It took four and a half hours.

Alex was so proud of my achievement that he was going to "reward" me with a post. I was already rewarding myself with a beer, with which he started rewarding himself soon after. Then we rewarded ourselves with more beer and some TV, and with a few more rounds at the bar. It was all very, uh, rewarding. Anyway...

Veni, vedi vici.

tabula non grata | joanna • post/haste

It's been two hours of paying bills and throwing shit away and stuffing unopened envelopes that supposedly contain "important tax information" into a larger envelope. Two hours, and all I have to show for it is a dwindling bank account, a graver understanding of how paying my taxes will soon further deplete said bank account, and a still-chaotic desk.

Yes, those are dolls in the foreground, but I was not playing with them. I was gluing their shoes to their feet to prevent future messes. See? I'm organizing. And no, Ash's desk does not all of the sudden look like mine did.

If for some strange reason I had to communicate this process to Helen Keller, I would tightly grip a frying pan in her hand and guide her to repeatedly smash herself in the head.

Back to work.

rasa-ing my tabula | joanna • post/haste

Prompted by private ridicule and public humiliation, (thanks, Alex), I have decided to devote the next several years of my life to getting my "workspace" in order. Consequently, I will be unable to distract you -- and myself -- with any retarded insights on things of no importance whatsoever. No, instead I will be sorting through overdue bills, compiling tax crap, and hopefully unearthing our tickets for tomorrow night's Rapture show at Roseland Ballroom.

Goodbye, for now. I will miss you.

(Look I'm procrastinating by continuing to write absolutely nothing! And I can keep doing it! Shit shit shit I hate paperwork and filing and taxes effing taxes. Evil evil evil. Fine. Here I go. Just one cigarette first. Then I'll do it. Smoke and assess. Devise a plan. Follow the plan. Uh huh. That makes sense. Okay. Yeah. Bye.)

so a ukrainian and a zoroastrian walk into a bar... • post/haste

A few snapshots from Dan and Roxanne's wedding in Philadelphia last weekend. We should mention that the couple's family backgrounds are Ukrainian Catholic and Indian Zoroastrianism, and that the bride and groom themselves might best be described as secular humanists. Somehow, they managed to incorporate themselves, their friends, their families, and their respective cultures and traditions seamlessly into a beautiful ceremony performed at The Franklin Institute (Philly's science museum). Three cheers.

Here, the happy couple toasts their family and friends:

Here, two-twenty cleans up nicely:

Here, two-twenty reverts to our natural state, a level of dissipated drunkenness that requires us to communicate using rudimentary hand signals:

Better pictures will come when the photographer among us gets his film developed. As it stands, we feel that these snapshots maybe convey something of the spirit of the evening. The wedding's theme was "Orange and Red", and we should mention it even had it's own soundtrack! Every guest got to take home a CD of music chosen by Dan and Roxanne to represent their union, titled "My Heart Is Cast" (that's a line from Frank Black's "Speedy Marie", which is on there). Also on there: Destroyer, Cinerama, Evelyn's cover of The Magnetic Fields' "Smoke and Mirrors", GBV, the Casino Royale theme(!) and an original song written for the wedding by Stew, "Orange and Red".

Congrats again, Dan and Rox, two-twenty wishes you all the best. And absolves you of any and all responsibility for Sunday's skull-crushing hangover.

cleanliness is next to australian-ness | alex • post/haste

So, as mentioned, two-twenty went to Philadelphia last weekend for a wedding (a very lovely one at that, pictures of which shall be posted forthwith). I had some work to do on Friday and could not leave as early as Joanna and Ash. As I was getting ready to walk out the door, I wandered by their shared office (affectionately referred to around two-twenty as "NASA" due to Joanna's penchant for technology), and glanced in. What I saw inside was the physical manifestation of two very distinct personalities in action; the inner workings of my flatmates' minds were laid out for me in their personal preparations for a weekend roadtrip. I was witness to their "feng shui of going away", if you will (don't worry, I don't expect you to). What I saw:

Ash's Desk

Joanna's Desk

I guess I'll have to change my pet name for Ash from "dirty fucking Australian" to just plain "fucking Australian".

passing the buck • post/haste

Two-twenty started out with lofty goals, like writing funny things about the Sunday Styles section every Monday.

HAHahahahahahah!!

We should know better than to make proclamations about what we intend to accomplish, because that only leads to public humiliation when our alcoholism and natural bent towards procrastination and inaction causes us to not follow through on our promises! Happily, this week another inveterate drunk steps up to plate, absolving us of our responsibility. Enjoy.

Falling into Desuetude | Eurotrash

in philadelphia, we're worth fifty bucks • post/haste

Two-twenty has a wedding to attend this weekend (congratulations to Shep and Rox!) and must off to distant lands, like Philadelphia. Alas, this means no two two oh for you today. Happily, it means that two amazing people are tying the knot, so stop being so selfish.

In the meantime, go look at Lindsay Lindsayism's pretty new site, read something useful, or slag off.

"fun times are for sharing with friends" • post/haste

There are those who might pretend to the "Hello Kitty Bong" Google search crown, and then there is two-twenty.

We, however, are not ones to rest on our laurels. In order to ensure that our despotic rule shall last forever and in perpetuity, we decided to do the unthinkable: create an actual Hello Kitty Bong. Wait wait wait, that is, an actual Hello Kitty TM (all rights reserved by and gladly assigned to the all powerful SANRIO CO.) Water Pipe (for use with, like, strawberry-infused tobacco and dried corn silk and, um, stuff). That's more like it. We suppose if there is one lesson to be taken from this, it is "Be careful what you wish for." If there are two, surely the second is "Don't provoke us, people."

Since two-twenty does not really, uh, indulge (save for the rare experiment), we brought in a panel of experts who we felt were more up to the task of providing our readers with only the most comprehensive and scientific information relating to trademark infringement and illegal drug use. They did not hesitate to take the high road, and as choruses of "Helllooooooooooo, kitty! Helllloooooo!" echoed about our halls, the true scope of our accomplishment was made clear: on the sixth day we had built it, they had come, and we all could see that it was good. Very, very good.
 

Now, we may rule with a blindingly white plastic paw, but our dictatorship is a benevolent one. In the spirit of compassionate conservatism, we are going to share with all of you the alchemic process that can turn $30.42 into a surprisingly utile piece of Art. Or something. It may be possible to complete the project on a tighter budget, perhaps if you live in a state with lower sales tax than New York, or if you have a small niece with an affinity for Hello Kitty products but a decidedly undeveloped capacity for self defense. You can save approximately $8.96 by resisting the temptation to purchase a sheet of Hello Kitty sparkle stickers, a Strawberry-U writing set, and a dangly Key Ring Charm while at the Sanrio Store, but we defy you to try. Lucky for you, the necessary Hello Kitty items are available online.

The Raw Materials

• Hello Kitty Pop-Up Straw Bottle
  
• Hello Kitty 4C Glitter Ballpoint Pen Set
  
• Hello Kitty Flower Power Rocket Eraser pack
  

In addition to these raw materials, you will need, as is the case with all things in life, the right tools for the job. Two-twenty does not have said tools, but we do possess an impressive improvisational capacity. This stems mostly from our time back in 'Nam (or perhaps more from our short stint in Rikers, but that is a story for another time). And yes, to answer your question, we were in the shit. So, a list not necessarily of the tools you will need, but of a selection of tools that will definitely get the job done:

• Hammer and an attendant nail.
• Electric drill with a very dull coarse-thread drywall bit.
• Leatherman (TM) Wave Multi-tool.
• Serrated-edge bread knife (adept students of the multi-tool will quickly note that a serrated blade is to be found among the many features of the above-mentioned Wave. You may substitute it for the bread knife, but we cannot guarantee your results).
• Small tub of Cranium Clay(TM) or Playdough*.
• Hot glue gun, preferably one with a low-heat setting, and one glue stick.

*Not exactly necessary, but does help with conceptualizing the size and angle of the hole you will need to burrow out of Hello Kitty's tummy.

Instructions

1. Using a hammer and nail, pierce Kitty's tummy just above her jumper to create a drive hole.

2. Drive electric drill through Kitty. Be patient, she is stronger than she looks.

3. Use straight-edge multi-tool knife blade to widen hole.

4. The hole should be oval in shape to allow for angling of Rocket Eraser container.

5. Apply hot glue to top of hole with Rocket Eraser container perpendicular to work surface. Slide Rocket Eraser container into place before glue dries.

6. Apply hot glue around the rest of the Rocket Eraser container, ensuring that Rocket Eraser container is properly positioned while glue dries.

7. Use bread knife to remove closed end of tube from Glitter Ballpoint pen set. File down edges so they are level.

8a. Apply hot glue to bottom quarter inch of tube...

8b. And quickly apply hot glue to mouth of Pop-Up Straw Bottle. Insert tube onto bottle and center before glue dries.

Ta da!

You can then reattach handy carrying strap for portability...

And fashion!

The finished product, with all tools utilized:

We are not yet taking orders for additional units, but might be cajoled into turning our home into a sweat shop if anyone knows any children in need of an after school activity (preferably Japanese children, for authenticity purposes only) . Also, on the off chance that you are reading this because you simply must possess a Hello Kitty Water Pipe yet lack skills in the Arts and Crafts department, there's a possibility we will auction our utterly unique creation to the highest bidder on eBay. That is, if we can part with it.

coming to terms with independence • post/haste

Two-twenty are registered Independents, and today we received our third -- of what will surely number in the hundreds by November -- call from political parties intent on swaying our pendulums to their sides. The convo went like this:

evil: Hello, may I please speak to Mr. or Mrs. Two-Twenty?

good: Who's calling please?

evil: (long pause) This is a political courtesy call.

good: Okay, who, may I ask, is calling?

evil: Hello, my name is Brittany and I'm calling on behalf of the Republican blah blah blah to blah blah blah your blah blah blah.

good: Brittany, no one in this house is Republican. Can you please remove our telephone number from your calling list?

evil: Yes.

good: Thank you Brittany.

So far, the Republicans are the only ones who've telephoned, and their insidious campaigning hasn't been relegated to annoying calls. About a month ago, two-twenty received a large envelope containing a photo of the blithering idiot President and his wife thanking us for our support -- which they've never had in any way -- along with a request for money. The minimum donation, $25, the max, $25,000.

We consequently (over?)-reacted in a manner similar to those dealing with loss: first there was shock (how could they possibly think we would kick down our money?), then bargaining (maybe if we'd just registered as Democrats they'd leave us alone), depression followed (we didn't vote for him before but look what happened? is there any hope for this country?), and then, anger, which prompted us to tape the aforementioned photo on our kitchen wall with a Sharpie so we could work through our feelings whenever we needed to.

(clicking on the image will pop the finished piece)

Having expressed ourselves, we have finally arrived at acceptance.

Should you require this sort of therapy, here's a photo for you to deface:

it's not easy being so drunk you turn green • post/haste

Three in honor of St. Patrick's Day:

• Guiness bubbles really do sink! Actually, the ones on the side have trouble floating up because they experience so much friction from their contact with the side of the glass. The ones in the middle go right up and create a circular flow that results in the side bubbles being forced back down. Whatever. We're just impressed that these scientists managed to get this "research" past anyone (via msnbc).

• You may have missed the Dropkick Murphys' slate of five St. Patty's Day shows up in Boston, but now you can own your very own digitally-preserved copy of the live experience. Available at Amazon.

• Maybe save this for tomorrow morning, but msnbc publishes an Alcoholics Anonymous "do you have a drinking problem?" (pop)quiz. First thing we thought of was the old canard about what separates us from alcoholics: they go to meetings. Second thing we thought of was to take the quiz. Our answers, with comments, follow:

1. Have you ever decided to stop drinking for a week or so, but only lasted for a couple of days?

No. Why would we ever want to not drink for a whole week?

2. Do you wish people would mind their own business about your drinking -- stop telling you what to do?

Yes. Why are people (this may refer specifically to certain Australians) always trying to get us to do shots even when it is clear that our motor functions are dangerously impaired?

3. Have you ever switched from one kind of drink to another in the hope that this would keep you from getting drunk?

No. We may have switched from one, er, type of, er, neural stimulant to another in hopes of extending the amount of time we could remain vertical and thus able to drink, but we don't think that is what you are asking.

4. Do you ever need a drink to get started in the morning, or to stop shaking?

Yes. But only on Sundays. As far as you know.

5. Do you envy people who can drink without getting into trouble?

No. Isn't that half the fun of drinking?

6. Have you had problems connected with drinking during the past year?

No. Yes. Um, define "problems". Oh yeah, a few times we couldn't find liquor stores that were open on Sunday, but then MUG changed all that. Thanks!

7. Has your drinking caused trouble at home?

No. Yes. Um, define "trouble".

8. Do you ever try to get “extra” drinks at a party because you do not get enough?

Yes. But only if it's nearing the end of an open bar. In that case we may start aquiring imaginary friends. If you are a bartender at one of these events, you will be able to tell because we will suddenly need an extra Maker's on the rocks and a spare Ketel One and Something for our buddies Eugene and Mathilde. Wait a sec... "you do not get enough?" Are you implying that our drinking affects our sex life? Oh, well then, yes again.

9. Do you tell yourself you can stop drinking any time you want to, even though you keep getting drunk when you don't mean to?

No. Yes. Wait, is getting drunk when you don't mean to a bad thing?

10. Have you missed days of work or school because of drinking?

Yes. Fuck you, you sanctimonious little quiz. Like you haven't?

11. Do you have “blackouts”?

Yes. No. We do not remember. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. That's funny.

12. Have you ever felt that your life would be better if you did not drink?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. No.

Incidentally, AA thinks that anyone who answered yes to four or more of the preceeding questions most likely has a serious drinking problem. You do the math.

Happy St. Drunk Irish Green Beer Snake-Whacking Day!

shamrock shake • post/haste

This seems at once very au courant and incredibly imbecilic: a Franz Ferdinand "Take Me Out" / Kelis "Milkshake" mash up mix (via stereogum) It's true what they say about the fine line betwen clever and stupid, and that mix is tromping all over it. For the opportunity to check out Franz Ferdinand's recent album online, try here (also via stereogum, obvs). For the opportunity to check out Kelis' double-thick chocolate frappe... wait, you've spent the last two months trying to get it out of your head. Sorry.

While on the subject of Franz Ferdinand, two-twenty must point out one thing: is it just us or do they remind one a bit of Dopo Yume? We (well, at least some of us) were at the February FF show at the Bowery (we left the critiquing to more practiced reviewers) and really enjoyed it and felt maybe even a little caught up in the heady atmosphere of unabashed boy worship... but in the end we decided that perhaps they are not the second coming of christ. That title clearly belongs to The Faint.

mea culpa in vino veritas (sic) • post/haste

Okay, we give up, and like the gentleman(?) who sent us so much traffic yesterday does so often, we plead hungover exhaustedness. Thursday nights are dangerous, people. Remember, alcohol and blogging are inseperable but alcohol and rohypnol and ketamine and oxycontin and blogging, when combined, have a very short shelf life. We promise to think of clever things over the weekend and then be too bleary-eyed and empty-minded on Monday to write about them. Until then, we remain your humble servants in the service of the lord ketel one,

two-twenty

the letters and the law • post/haste

Last night two-twenty averted boredom by playing Scrabble at Hi-Fi. Actually, let's call it Beer-Scrabble, in honor of the current trend in hybridized pastimes. Or really, Beer-Ketel-One-Scrabble.

Though we generally look upon each other with absolutely nothing but kindness, two-twenty plays Scrabble like banking moguls from rival investment firms play charity tennis matches -- mercilessly... for fun! And like those tycoons, sometimes we attempt to find loopholes in the law for our gains. Things never turned ugly -- they really never do at two-twenty, at least not intramurally -- but last night there was what we will herewith dramatize for the purpose of your entertainment as "an incident".

Early in the game, Team Joanna took a pummeling when Team Alex laid down all seven tiles on a triple word score. Soon after, Team Joanna attempted to scrabble as well with the word "ATLANTIC".

Now, everyone knows that proper nouns are not permitted in Scrabble. But what about proper adjectives? The answer is...

no.

Although the The Pixie Pit's online Scrabble rules make no mention of the fact that officially, words that are always capitalized, like, say, Atlantic are not allowed, the official Scrabble rules state otherwise.

So there you have it.

Team Joanna did in fact remove the word (after a measured number of polite attempts to dissuade their opponents), opting for the shorter but extremely appropriate word "ANTIC".

Final scores:
Team Alex -- 349
Team Joanna -- 234

If anyone wants to play online Scrabble with us, go ahead and start a game. We will beat your asses enjoy the challenge.

killing time (and brain cells) with a vengeance • post/haste

We're not sure if it's because the global village idiots have officially taken over town hall, or if Americans have grown as bored with their citys' offerings as a kid at her mother's third wedding ceremony, but people are resorting to some bizarre activities to get out of the house. Two-twenty generally applauds innovation, but this latest spate of calculated distractions is so contrived that we've brainstormed some alternatives that we'd find just as fun, and often a lot more cost effective.

movieoke
East Village cineasts/exhibitionists are gathering weekly at Two Boots Den of Cin to recite dialogue from subtitles while scenes plays behind them.

two-twenty's movieoke
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Make Joanna drink the Michelob Ultra. Slip "Empire Strikes Back" into the old video tape player and ignore her clucks about it "not [being] the effing widescreen version!" -- she'll shut up once the crawl starts. Sit back, and listen as she recites every other line of the film. Drink another tall-boy when her babbling starts to annoy you: once Yoda hits the screen again you'll be laughing like a kid during her mother's third divorce.

staring contests
According to trendcentral, after a December screening of the film STAREMASTER: THE MOVIE at Pianos on the LES, "patrons rushed to the stage to create their own StareMaster contest". the rules are stringent, playground rules.

two-twenty's staring contests
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Commence staring contest. Joanna will be eliminated almost immediately due to hysterical fit of laughter. Let Alex and Ash duke it out until they require another beer. Turn on television and stare at that instead. Drink beer until convinced that television is staring back.

pornaoke
Thanks again for everything, Germany. On the last Wednesday of every month at Lucy's Hat Shop in Philly, participants provide the soundtracks to screened porn.

two-twenty's pornaoke
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Drink beer while watching Cinemax on demand "Max After Dark" movie. Barrage stone-faced Alex with dumb questions about Project Date-Our-Flatmate until he tells Ash and Joanna to "shut the fuck up".

chess boxing
This one hasn't hit New York yet to our knowledge, but it's a matter of time. In this Dutch invention, players alternate chess with boxing for a maximum of eleven rounds. The winner is determined by either a knockout or checkmate.

two-twenty's chess boxing
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Have Ash launch a computer chess game application and tell him there are beers in the refrigerator. Bring one to him when he asks. Let him play against the machine until he starts screaming "you fucking cheating monkey" so loudly that you can hear him from the other room. Go to any bar populated by suits just as happy-hour has turned ugly. Sit down at a table with a clear view of the bar and send Joanna to get drinks. Let Alex feign opposition to Ash's pugilistic instincts before averring that he's "got [Ash's] back". Watch the blood fly, then promptly exit.

rock paper scissors
Blame Canada. The 2003 Molson Canadian Rock Paper Scissors International Championships took place last October in Toronto featuring competitors from all over The States, including All Too Flat from New York, vying for world domination. You know the rules.

two-twenty's rock paper scissors
Run out of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Commence competition to determine who will make beer run. Drink shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Play again to determine how to kill rest of evening.

this is what two martinis and a train ride will get you, on a friday, minus tip | alex • post/haste

So I just bought my first iPod. Not that that has anything to do with anything, excepting for the fact that it has completely and totally changed my life for the better. Seriously, it is like the best $400 I have ever spent. And, as I quite literally said to the clerk at the computer store when I expressed this same sentiment while purchasing said iPod, I have spent money on some pretty fucking good drugs in my life (Hi Mom!). I would say, in honor of Uncle Grambo, that it was the apogee of all disposable income spending adventures, except for the fact that in order to qualify as a disposable income purchase I think you need to actually have the money on hand necessary for the purchase. This one was all about BankOne Visa, baby. Heh. I’ll bet they regret the day they gave yours truly a five-figure credit line… wait a sec… they’ve jacked my interest rate like eight times since then… hmmm.

Anyway. This is not about iPods. IPods are here incidental. This is about states of mind. Today went something like this for me: I woke up around 9am with a medium-sized hangover and an attendant headache. This was due to the fact that after a very pleasant p:dof-related event last night I decided to meet up with a friend to play pool and listen to the uber-extensive jukebox at Hi Fi (ex-Brownies) . We played eight ball against a couple of total losers who, inexplicably, kept beating us despite our clearly superior pool-playing skills and taste in music. I should here mention that these two rather unattractive Europeans (think: the worst of Benelux) were hanging out with two really-trying-too-hard hipster wannabe girls. We’re talkin’ ultra-low-slung-jeans-with-the-studded-belt, artfully-aged-tee-shirt, totally-un-post-meta-ironic-trucker-hat-wearing beeyotches. This made me quite honestly wonder if someone had stolen my idea of opening a hipster hooker franchise. The idea is that you would be able to hire a girl who would not only, uh, service you, but, much more importantly, would spend all evening with you in the hipster hangout of your choice making you the envy of every beautiful emo boy in the place. Side benefit… every one of the boys there would go home at the end of the evening and spend literally hours wondering how you got the girl of their dreams, and then they would write about it on their LiveJournal and you could read about it the next day. It’s sort of like the closest a man can come to being multi-orgasmic.

Anyway, when I woke up this morning with the aforementioned hangover, it suddenly occurred to me what I should have said to the one of those hipster chicks who I ended up in a short-lived conversation with. I should have, very seriously and all deadpan, asked her why her girlfriend was wearing such an ugly baseball hat. I would have said, “It’s like those hats that farmers wear. What’s up with that?” She would have looked at me kind of funny, wondering if I was serious, but I would have held my incredulous expression. “It’s a trucker hat,” she would have said. “Well, sure, I guess truckers maybe wear them as well as farmers, but how does that help explain why your friend is wearing one? It’s really unattractive,” I would have said. “It’s a TRUCKER HAT,” she would have rejoined. I would continue to play dumb until she was finally forced to either walk away or explain the whole trucker hat phenomenon to me, as she understood it (hopefully the latter). Next time I am presented with this situation, I am most definitely going to take the plunge.

Right. So perhaps you can understand that when the above is one of your first waking thoughts, the day is going to be a good one. I got up, made coffee, had a sesame bagel with chive cream cheese, and read an article in the Times about seniors having robo-sex in Japan. Then I went to the gym, where I witnessed two freakishly fit people engaging in some sort of bizarre mating ritual involving tossing medicine balls back and forth, patting each other’s tummies as they did sit ups, and rolling their hips suggestively whenever such an action might in any way be semi-reasonably associated with the exercise they were engaged in. This creeped me out, but I was safely cocooned by my iPod and was thus impervious to their aggressively creep-inducing vibe.

Next came a much-needed shower (more because of the drinking than the exercising), and then it was off to lunch with an ex-girlfriend who I had not seen in some time. We went to Rare and ate rather delicious hamburgers (mine had caramelized onions on it, because I strongly believe that whenever one is given the opportunity to add caramelized onions to anything one absolutely must). I learned, quite out of the blue, that she had recently become engaged to her very nice Dutch boyfriend (sorry about the earlier Benelux comment. I didn’t mean you. But you of all people should know what I mean). We drank several martinis in honor of our “business lunch”. About halfway through my second one it occurred to me that she was the first of my ex-girlfriends (as far as I know) to get married, or at least engaged. This actually made me feel sort of happy in a grown-up kind of way. Or grown-up in a happy sort of way, or something.

Then I found myself on a train on my way up to Newport, RI for the weekend to do something sailing-related (this means nothing to 98% of you. For the remaining 1.5 people, perhaps you can understand how this, combined with the recent hints of Spring weather, would only add to my already burgeoning mood). My belly had a warm vodka buzz, I had a beer in front of me and my iPod’s earbuds were nestled comfortably just where they should be. For some reason I cued up stellastarr*'s Somewhere Across Forever. As Connecticut rolled by, smoothed out and softened by a thick fog, and the goofily upbeat guitar kicked in, I realized that nothing all that great had happened today. Rather, my day had been suffused with an unfamiliar feeling: unbridled optimism. I was at once happy and seized by the oddest thought: this is probably close to how people like Lindsay Lindsayism and Sarah Ultragrrrl feel all of the time. God bless them, I thought. God bless them every one.

charity starts at home, right? • post/haste

Tonight two-twenty will be attending a cocktail party benefit for City Harvest, a charity organization that rescues excess food from restaurants and brings it to people in need. In a disgusting display of irony that will probably make you hate us as much as we currently hate ourselves, here's a photograph of our latest Fresh Direct order, received just one hour ago (it took that long to unpack). Please note that, as usual, it contains enough beer to get every freshman girl at every university in the United States drunk for an entire school year, including Spring Break.

Perhaps this is a life-vest situation, you know, in the event of emergency, secure yours before helping the person next to you with theirs. In any event, we did contribute to the good folks at City Harvest, and we will be drinking cocktails with them to alleviate a level of guilt we thought only our mothers could incite.

almost thirty-one | joanna • post/haste

We at two-twenty don’t usually wipe off the clown make-up, but after multiple attempts to craft digital ballon animals for our dozen or so readers -- during which times each and every one popped in my face -- I freaking give up. Tomorrow is my birthday. My thirty-first birthday. Thirty ONE. I don’t like it. I will tomorrow. Shit, I’ll love it tomorrow. But today, or at least for now, I do not like it at all.

So instead of continuing my effort to look outward, I’m going to turn myself to face me (all apologies to Bowie). Birthdays are personal New Years; here are some annotated resolutions:

Learn to empty ashtrays before they are scary.

Sigh. A year ago I was two months in to being smoke-free, on my second to last week of the patch. Quit for seven months. Then I met Ash. Now I ash in an ashtray he bought me.

Cool, right? When you can see it.

Maintain commitment to trying on items at H&M despite devil voice that insists 1) "it’s only $15" and/or 2) "you can always return it". Thought about capturing evidence of past indiscretions but there’s self-examination and there’s self-flagelation. Important to draw the line.

Keep desk organized, or at least more organized.

I have no "after" picture.

Learn to wear heels. Without falling. When sober. At weddings and everywhere else.

This was actually my New Year’s resolution. Not doing too well with it. It’s been cold and New York is a walking city and... okay, enough excuses. If freaking Sarah Jessica can run around in Manolos than I can too, dammit. Or knock-offs. Or whatever. It’s the stairs that are a problem. No no WERE a problem.

Stop ignoring reports that Tasti D-Lite’s published nutritional analysis is absolute bullshit.

Accept that even my beloved Caudalie skincare products will not change the fact that I am getting older… but never ever stop using them because they are magically transformative.

And finally, concede that even though their country is home to the ten deadliest snakes in the world, that they are proud of having the largest man-made structure on the planet that is, in fact, a chain link fence, and that they talk kinda funny... Australians aren't all that bad after all.

things that make you go... fucking fuck you! | alex • post/haste

I just got a piece of spam. Something about my small penis' bad credit and the software that can help me fix it through mastery of ebay. That's not the point. The point is that rather than evading filters through dadaist poetry, random name generators, or intentional misspellings, this particular spam got through by spouting pithy "inspirational" one-liners:

Fear is proof of a low born soul.
Only the educated are free.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
As people are walking all the time, in the same spot, a path appears.
I'm not a driven businessman, but a driven artist. I never think about money. Beautiful things make money.
There is nothing so uncertain as a sure thing.
One should always play fair when one has the winning cards.
Nothing right can be accomplished in art without enthusiasm.
He was one of those men who possess almost every gift, except the gift of the power to use them.
A rut is a grave with no ends.
I go on working for the same reason that a hen goes on laying eggs.
Marriage is the only adventure open to the cowardly.
Diplomacy is to do and say the nastiest things in the nicest way.
If you would have me weep, you must first of all feel grief yourself.

This made me want to drive a two-by-four through my computer screen. Because I am annoyed and feeling spiteful, I wanted to share this feeling with all of you. Today does have one silver lining, however: it is Thursday, and thus it is more or less socially acceptable to go out and get plastered tonight. Cheers.

technical difficulties | joanna • post/haste

To Whom it May Concern,

Alex is out of town and I spent the day attempting to upgrade my Mac to Panther. It took all day. I am tired and I am drinking a beer and sadly, that is all I have to say about anything right now... except that Ash and I going to see the Liars at Warsaw tonight. Rumor has it the Yeah Yeah Yeahs might show up. That would be cool.

Love,
Joanna

p.s.
I accidentally wrote over my iPhoto library, and apparently had been backing up one from October 2002 the entire time. Tabula rasa, right? Yeah. Liar.

p.p.s.
I need another beer.

the sitemeter report, with absolutely no apologies to mlle shaw • post/haste

laughing at ourselves not with ourselves • post/haste

As some of you may have noticed, two-twenty features rotating tag-lines beneath our title. Twenty of them, in fact. Though not yet bored with what we've already penned, we arrived at Mercury Lounge last night (Sister Christian still stuck in our heads) with time and brain cells to kill. What follows is the original list. It will be edited. We promise.

• fictional journalism
• we are medium rare
• you're good enough, smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like you
• date our flatmate you goddamn bitch
• boldly going... downhill. and fast.
• smoking outside, hurting inside
• an oblique strategy
• no woman no cry hahhahahhahahhahahhaa
• robots in disguise
• may cause anal leakage
• in philadelphia we're worth fifty bucks
• we can rebuild it
• we can rebuilt him (or her or you or it)
• that color is you
• these pretzels are making us thirsty
• clothing optional, attitude mandatory
• five dollars buys a seat on our bandwagon
• making smart cookies out of your stupid pie
• your jedi mind tricks won't work on us
• by the power of greyskull
• we have fallen and we do not wish to get up
• pumping irony (noice!)
• where the fuck is my shot of ketel one
• this can only end badly
• the neverending story -- no, really, try to get us to shut up asshole
• blatantly unnecessary
• and now back to our regular programming
• measure twice, cut once, always wear a condom
• mess with the bull, you get the horns
• helpful or hurtful

And, just for the holidays...

• jesus died for you, you ungrateful fuck
• chaka khan is not a jewish holiday
• ain't cool to be no jive turkey so close to thanksgiving

i really need you tonight sister christian • post/haste

Alex and I are about to go see Dopo Yume at Mercury Lounge... but we got sidetracked.

Into the eighties. Cheesy, goopy eighties.

Soundtrack: "Total Eclipse of the Heart", then "Sister Christian"

Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.

(duck! shit -- on your right! ow! fuck!)

tuesday is the new monday • post/haste

Due to circumstances beyond our control, this week's Sunday Styles-related post is going to have to wait until tomorrow. Sniff. Actually, it may have something to do with the fact that it was the most boring Sunday Styles section EVER. Or our general laziness. Or the fact that sometimes we actually have other things to do than update this fucking site.

Whatever, like you care.

i'm on to you, fallon | alex • post/haste

Thanks to the modern wonder that is TiVo, I had the great pleasure today of TiViewing Jimmy Fallon as he dropped a joke on Weekend Update that I wrote, let's see... oh, right, almost two weeks ago. Word for word.

And that American Indian comic bit was total ass, too.

talk amongst yourselves | alex • post/haste

I spent far too long yesterday venting my spleen on organized religion, and have other things to do today so unless the Paris threesome tape surfaces, we invade Korea, or Joanna goes apeshit on the keyboard, this will be a light posting day. Hence, a few second- and third-hand pieces of intertrash for you to pick over:

•The Black Table interviews ex-A&F Quarterly ex-editor Savas Abadsidis. "(It's pronounced "A-bad-seed-is." Yes, really.)" (via Gawker)
•Catherine's Pita directed me to the ok go blog where I found many funny things including this and this (warning: depending on your mood and/or the current chemical compounds circulating through your blood stream, you will either find that last one mildly amusing or you will want to shove your fist down my throat and pull my balls out through my nostrils).
•Related to that last one: you're all gay. (via some poo-related comment string some time ago on eurotrash)
•I've noticed a trend over at the Gothamist interviews: the guys' photos are all over the spectrum, from Phish-head trippy to endearingly geeky to frankly disturbing. The girls, however, are in agreement: go for the pretty moue. You go, girls.

Incidentally, ok go will be playing tonight at the Mercury Lounge. We may or may not be there. Out.

spreading the word • post/haste

Last night, an evil genius located two-twenty using the most brilliant search terms ever: "hello kitty bong" Note to selves: create and market hello kitty bon... er... waterpipes, expressly for use with entirely legal tobacco products (and dried banana peels, natch).

Incidentally the first: said search terms take you here.
Incidentally the second: happy 30th, hello kitty! We are huge fans of any little pussy whose motto is "fun times are for sharing with friends!"

we're gluttons for perishables • post/haste

Our latest Fresh Direct order tallied in at a whopping $339.08. Close inspection reveals that over half our cash went to beer and wine. Because we entertain a lot. Really.

(see the list for yourself)