It's my name.
I like movies and watch bad ones all the time.
I like music and records and never listen to them.
I like books and read too many of them.
This blog is about all of those things and my reactions to them.

I am contactable by AIM, e-mail, fax (at Kinko's), telegraph, telephone, the ask box on my Tumblr, IRC, BBS, chess by mail, messenger pigeon, P.O. Box, smoke signal (outdoors only), telepathy (where available), Skype, rocks thrown through windows with notes tied around them, coded messages in crossword puzzles, macaroni valentine, talking to me in person, and crystal ball.

AIM and GMail are most convenient
My AIM is log jam min 3 7
My Gmail is frollicious at you-know-the-rest
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Self-Pity Alert:

I really need a job but whenever I look for one the idea of working another retail job makes me want to cry.

Also it occurred to me earlier today that I have been fired from four out of the six jobs I have ever had. I only have one marketable skill and it is not even something I am actually good at. Not to mention that whenever I do manage to apply for a job, nine times out of ten I never get called in for interview.

I need money bad, and I feel like I would work any job to get some, but clearly this is not the case. It makes me feel like a bum.

I just want something steady that doesn’t make me hate myself and gives me enough money to take as many improv and sketch classes and go to as many shows as possible. But that job doesn’t seem to exist for me and I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore.

I feel like this just about sums up Netflix.

I feel like this just about sums up Netflix.

Hey so if you like Twitter, or fake TV show summaries, or, ideally, both, you should check out and preferably follow my new Twitter, @WhatsonTVLater


Scored this from a flea market today. “Monster Mash: The Movie,” starring Dracula, Dr. Frankenstein and Candace Cameron. Potentially the best/worst or worst/best thing ever recorded, and at fifty cents, a no-brainer.

This movie is my new God.


Scored this from a flea market today. “Monster Mash: The Movie,” starring Dracula, Dr. Frankenstein and Candace Cameron. Potentially the best/worst or worst/best thing ever recorded, and at fifty cents, a no-brainer.

This movie is my new God.

I was shooting heroin and reading “The Fountainhead” in the front seat of my privately owned police cruiser when a call came in. I put a quarter in the radio to activate it. It was the chief.

“Bad news, detective. We got a situation.”

“What? Is the mayor trying to ban trans fats again?”

“Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven million dollars’ worth of bitcoins.”

The heroin needle practically fell out of my arm. “What kind of monster would do something like that? Bitcoins are the ultimate currency: virtual, anonymous, stateless. They represent true economic freedom, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any government. Do we have any leads?”

“Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided someone pays us a fair market rate to do so.”

“Easy, chief,” I said. “Any rate the market offers is, by definition, fair.”

He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Lisowski. Now you get out there and find those bitcoins.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.”

I put a quarter in the siren. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal office building, strangled on all sides by public sidewalks. I hopped over them and went inside.

“Home Depot™ Presents the Police!®” I said, flashing my badge and my gun and a small picture of Ron Paul. “Nobody move unless you want to!” They didn’t.

“Now, which one of you punks is going to pay me to investigate this crime?” No one spoke up.

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of private property is the foundation of all personal liberty?”

It didn’t seem like they did.

“Seriously, guys. Without a strong economic motivator, I’m just going to stand here and not solve this case. Cash is fine, but I prefer being paid in gold bullion or autographed Penn Jillette posters.”

Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in computer money invented to buy drugs was missing.

I figured I could wait them out. I lit several cigarettes indoors. A pregnant lady coughed, and I told her that secondhand smoke is a myth. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it.

“Subway™ Eat Fresh and Freeze, Scumbag!®” I yelled.

Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him.

“Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on public sidewalks. Our country needs a private-sidewalk voucher system, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between our corrupt federal government and the public-sidewalk lobby, it will never happen.

I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll pay you to stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate price point for stopping? I’ll offer you a thirteenth of an ounce of gold and a gently worn ‘Bob Barr ‘08’ extra-large long-sleeved men’s T-shirt!”

He turned. In his hand was a revolver that the Constitution said he had every right to own. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my own gun, put a quarter in it, and fired back. The bullet lodged in a U.S.P.S. mailbox less than a foot from his head. I shot the mailbox again, on purpose.

“All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, cop! I confess: I took the bitcoins.”

“Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of Oikos™ Greek Yogurt Presents Handcuffs® on the guy.

“Because I was afraid.”


“Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of central bankers,” he said. “I’m a central banker.”

I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a central banker killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head.

“Let this be a message to all your central-banker friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many bitcoins you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of an open society based on the principles of personal and economic freedom.”

He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then he swiped his credit card to pay me for arresting him.

(via fishmech)

This was amazing.

Saddest day of my life.
RIP iPad 2 (20??-now)

Saddest day of my life.

RIP iPad 2 (20??-now)

Embarrassed by Basically Everything I Have Ever Done: A Memoir

  • 1,433 Plays


Yo La Tengo w/ Daniel Johnston - Speeding Motorcycle (live on WFMU 2/4/1990)

The best.

(Source: kinoforma)

February 5, 1907


The Mills Commission, a group funded by sporting goods magnate Albert Spalding dedicated to determining the origins of baseball, controversially finds that baseball has in fact never existed, and all games played have been the product of the deranged, syphilitic mind of Abner Doubleday, an American military general and opium addict. The results are published in the Sunday edition of the Baseball Times, which immediately negates itself out of existence. In addition, all persons playing baseball at the moment of publication immediately vanish, reappearing 30 years later in a field outside of Seattle, Washington. The players are found wearing no clothing, having not aged a day, and when prompted to speak, can only utter a single word: “DOUBLEDAY.”

Reblogging this old fake history because I still don’t think I’ve written anything better.