Wait, What?

Day Two of our reappearance and we’re still clearing out the afterbirth and digging the mucus from our ear canals. It’s amazing how much hair we have! And what, exactly, is this crusty thing on the soft part of the skull? It’s like someone baked a suede-covered marshmallow.

Still, It’s kind of freeing to be able to walk around full-on naked like this. Windows wide open, no one looking in. It’s liberating and a trifle… um… what’s the word? Oh, yeah. Sexy. Totally fucking sexy. The thing about true apathy is that not only don’t you care about what other people think, you don’t even care what you think yourself.

It occurred to us, though, that a Statement of Purpose might be in order. Unzip the fly and stick something out there, as it were, for everyone to mock, point at, and suck on. Hopefully in that order.

Then someone else said, “Yes, but, isn’t that precisely not the point?” and then someone else asked, “The point of what?” to which someone other else replied, “Exactly!” Then forks were flung and eggs were scrambled and everything, as usual, went Higgledy Piggledy.

So rather than make any pronouncements at this time (to which we might be held accountable at some future point because, after all, every little thing out here gets recorded for fucking posterity – I mean, if the Library of Congress is archiving every fucking Twitter fart that’s allowed to pollute the room, then Baby Jesus knows that we’re not about to make promises that you and we know that neither of us will keep) what we’re going to do is promise not to make any promises, and to create a whole shitload of crap (which, yes, is redundant, but so are we, also!) .

By the way, does your spellchecker think shitload should be hyphenated? Is this really the world we all wanted? Does ‘shitload’ need to be so closely examined? Fuck that.

Where were we? Something about promises and farts and the Library of Congress? Meh. We’ve already lost track.

Wanna know a secret, just between us girls? We are kinda into that Sarah Palin bitch. I mean, who else do you know who’s that stupid and that popular? Dumb and hot is hot and dumb! If “dumb” means “hot.” She stands up there on some podium in front of hundreds of retards who can’t even spell their own names and they all chant her name like she’s their personal Jesus, and all she has to do is mispronounce a few adjectives and make shit up about stuff she don’t know shit about – and she’s still raking in millions of dollars! No wonder she don’t wanna pay no taxes.

Hey ho, this is Glassdog World Domination! Still doling out the double-fat butter from our collective ass churn.

Word of Mouth

You know what we love? Poodles! Poodles are like dogs, only they’re gay. They’re gay dog things that allow the people who own them (And we’ll hear none of that folderol about “people don’t own pets” drivel – you bought the damned animal slaves, you own them! Shut up! No, you shut up!) to do unspeakable things to them and then parade them around in public for, we assume, humorous, if not horrific, effect.

Line of Sight

Earthquakes! They’re the new new thing! Everyone’s having them but us, and we’re feeling a bit left out. Oh, sure, there’s death, destruction, horror, dogs and cats sleeping together, but it behooves us to think about Sharon Stone, who managed a couple of years ago to put these disasters into perspective. It’s karma! Sure, she later apologized for her red carpet remark, but golly, suddenly everything that’s ever happened to us makes total sense!

Sound Advice

We all remember the 80’s, don’t we? Bad hair, loud clothes, bright colors, awful cars. If you ever lived there, you’d never want to go back (making The A-Team movie a bit of a nightmare for those of us old enough to… but never mind, Bradley Cooper’s naked upper torso will make it all worthwhile). But there were some good – nay, great things about that decade, and one of them passed away last week of something we hope was akin to choking on glitter, being that it sounds pretty and awful at the same time. Malcolm McLaren was a visionary who helped popularize punk and hip-hop with the masses, and DJ Premier’s 40-minute epic Tribute Mix might explain the man’s importance to the world of music.

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