We’re back, and we are obviously not refreshed. Because, really, look at the Hot Dang side of this week’s Far Out vs. Hot Dang. There’s a lot of disappointment there. This whole “serotonin levels” thing is a bitch. Or maybe we’re just reflecting the zeitgeist? Maybe we’re totally healthy and society is sick? Where’s the love, people? THE LOVE.
DC to BC:
“police in dc don’t give a f*ck. i can sh!t on the ground right now, and as long as i clean it up, we good.”
“We try to support local artists, but you need a story, hotness, buzz, or you’re not ready for radio.”
For nerds only
“Oprah, on the other hand, appeared oblivious of the panic that had taken hold in the room and was having a great time.”
“It seems like every one of those people who was both in the bands and in the audiences at the shows ended up leaving.”
“Dreamt I owned a dog named Belgian Waffle. Not quite as good as when I dreamed I had a dog named Murder She Wrote.”
“Try dancing about environmental justice or the latest gridlock in Congress—it’s been done, and it’s not pretty.”
Cooler than the Bookmobile and the Wienermobile, not quite as vital as the Bloodmobile.
WHO STOLE HANS?
Duh, kids are smaller, so culinary logic dictates that they’re listed first on the menu.
“I was working and living in the suburbs, which was making my soul puke.”
“One of the things I told Lord and people in the institution is not to presume an answer.”
“They’re always disappointed when I explain the bee just happened to fly by and was attracted to the yellow condom-costume, so it was an accident”
“Hunter’s occasional tech trick of sampling her own vocals to create a loop … probably confused the handful of curious stragglers and bargain-hunting tourists who often make up the audiences for the daily Millennium Stage shows.”