I just got my dog a dope snoopy hoodie and I was thinking how cool it would be if we matched. Yeah fuck you whatever. Anyways the only bad that has official pet merch available is Lorna shore as far as my Google skills can tell. Anyone know of any stores or bands that have shit like hoodies and t shirts for dogs?
- Amerika -
whose country
bitter defeat acid
Dissonance
Littered with dead dreams
Illegal immigrants
Landslides mudslides
Empty echoes
- Star Spangled Bastard -
Can you see through
The polluted haze
The empty symbol
We once held dear
Stripes stars bruises pus blood
These colors do run
As we watch the fall
Tattered, worn rags
Dirty bombs
Chemical warfare
Prove nothing
Flag dissolved dust
That star spangled bastard
Ashes diaspora
Over the land of the lost
And the home of the
broken
Sunlight filtered into the room through the haphazardly closed blinds, reflecting off the laminate-covered end tables littered with cigarette butts from an overflowing ashtray and a near empty bottle of Wild Turkey, sans cap. He groaned as he turned over and the unwelcome rays temporarily blinded him. He ached all over, felt as if he had been through a full twelve rounds. Without looking, he reached for the pack of Pall Malls on the table and, in a practiced motion, extracted one, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Slowly coming out of his alcoholic haze, he surveyed the room. Nearly empty bottle, fully clothed, phone off the hook and lying on the floor. The phone call, he thought. That’s what set it off.
As he sat up and began the arduous task of climbing out of bed, he seemed to be searching for a sound that wasn’t there. Something was missing. It just hadn’t dawned on him yet.
He rose out of bed and trudged to the kitchen to get a drink of water and to put on the coffee. It struck him at once that the trailer was cold, freezing even. He had let the wood stove burn out again.
He bent down to put on his boots, grabbed his flannel, and opened the door to go to the woodpile behind the shed. He looked down and saw what he had been missing, what had been eluding him since he woke up minutes before. The dog lay expectantly at the doorstep, as if waiting to be let in. He glanced at the thermometer tacked to the side of the house. Negative ten. He never had a chance. He looked down once more, grumbled to himself, “Goddamn dog. Goddamn fucking dog,” turned around and closed the door. Moments later, a short report echoed in the sacred silence of the Adirondack morning, followed by a loud thud. Goddamn dog. Goddamn fucking dog.
Sunlight filtered into the room through the haphazardly closed blinds, reflecting off the laminate-covered end tables littered with cigarette butts from an overflowing ashtray and a near empty bottle of Wild Turkey, sans cap. He groaned as he turned over and the unwelcome rays temporarily blinded him. He ached all over, felt as if he had been through a full twelve rounds. Without looking, he reached for the pack of Pall Malls on the table and, in a practiced motion, extracted one, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Slowly coming out of his alcoholic haze, he surveyed the room. Nearly empty bottle, fully clothed, phone off the hook and lying on the floor. The phone call, he thought. That’s what set it off.
As he sat up and began the arduous task of climbing out of bed, he seemed to be searching for a sound that wasn’t there. Something was missing. It just hadn’t dawned on him yet.
He rose out of bed and trudged to the kitchen to get a drink of water and to put on the coffee. It struck him at once that the trailer was cold, freezing even. He had let the wood stove burn out again.
He bent down to put on his boots, grabbed his flannel, and opened the door to go to the woodpile behind the shed. He looked down and saw what he had been missing, what had been eluding him since he woke up minutes before. The dog lay expectantly at the doorstep, as if waiting to be let in. He glanced at the thermometer tacked to the side of the house. Negative ten. He never had a chance. He looked down once more, grumbled to himself, “Goddamn dog. Goddamn fucking dog,” turned around and closed the door. Moments later, a short report echoed in the sacred silence of the Adirondack morning, followed by a loud thud. Goddamn dog. Goddamn fucking dog.
I was at a pool party the other day hanging out with my brother and his family. We were talking about weird theories associated with tv shows and he told me about the family matters one. I can’t even go into it because it was so insane and detailed but it basically had to do with the actor Reginald VelJohnson being a cop across almost all of his roles.
We started talking about aqua teen as we have both been fans since it first aired and we came up with a working theory about how it all makes sense.
Here goes:
Carl is real. But Carl is the only real character in the show. Frylock, Master Shake, and Meatwad are all just imaginary characters in Carl’s mind.
He does not live in a house in the suburbs in New Jersey with neighbors who just happen to be fast food and have crazy adventures with space creatures and occasionally destroy his house.
He is living in a residential facility as a permanent resident due to his inability to adjust society after he was discharged from the Marines. His discharge was dishonorable, due to certain actions during a mission which is why he is destitute and living in a state facility.
He invented the characters we know and love as Frylock, Shake, and Meatwad to soothe his conscience after he destroyed a small family owned restaurant in a small village in Hanoi. Frylock and Shake are the parents and Meatwad is the toddler that he killed during the raid on the town.
The recurring characters are all of the patrons that were in the restaurant when he firebombed it. This is also the reason why his house is constantly getting blown up. It’s a form of penance that his life’s possessions are constantly being destroyed by his strange neighbors aka the family that he killed in Vietnam.
The reason he can’t seem to get away from them and he always ends up back in the same place is because that’s what really happens. He never leaves and he never will. He can’t escape them because they are his only escape from his horrific reality.
Any thoughts on this would be awesome. It’s absolutely left field and we were possibly pretty stoned but hey it makes a lot of sense if you really think about it. Because none of it makes sense.
I tried to picture
you...me
the way we were
before the fall
before it all came apart
it didn’t fit
memories shatter like fine china
faces places dates all wrong
the pieces don’t fit anymore
I need to start over.
The silence in the town square was broken by the sickening thud of bone making contact with flesh, followed by a howl of pain. The man tried to flee but was immediately accosted by two of his assailants. They held him up by his armpits as the third continued to pummel him. Overhead a dark cloud was forming.
As the first drops of blood hit the ground, the customers from various stores, cafes, and businesses surrounding the green began to emerge, drawn to the violence, as humans often are.
The cloud continued to grow, now darkening the center of the square.
The assault continued as blood began to pour from the newly formed openings on the man’s face. The crowd closed in. Above, the cloud continued to expand.
The crowd turned into a mob. Friends and neighbors turned on one another, biting, kicking, punching, slapping. The four men who minutes before were alone in the square were soon lost in the midst of the angry mob. The violence continued to escalate - shattered faces, broken bones, chunks of flesh bitten off and spat on the ground. The square soon became a study in contrasts - the ever growing cloud above and the rivulets of blood now pouring onto the green.
Cries of rage, screams of pain, howls and grunts that resembled a cackle of hyenas more than a group of humans as the crowd continued to attack. A massacre in the making, crimson mixed with green, cast darker by the now massive cloud lingering over the square.
A sudden shift in energy. The grass absorbed the blood, as if quenching a deep thirst. Looks of confusion as the men, women, and children snapped out of their violent trance to find themselves covered with blood, sinew, brains, gnarled flesh, and muscle tissue. The cloud began to shrink as if it was never there, the former mob recoiling with horror at their inexplicable and unspeakable acts.
The last drop of blood fell and was swallowed up by the grass. The sky opened up, revealing a cloudless, bright blue sky.
Crowd was sated.
The room was incredibly white. So white that it looked as if there were no lines or edges at all. A clinical smoothness.
In the center of the room, a white chair sat next to a white table. On the table sat a small cup containing a clear liquid substance.
Subject A ingested the clear liquid. In an instant he was transported to a place in his mind that no drug had ever taken him before.
Elation, ecstasy, pure uninhibited joy flowed through his veins as he transcended to cerebral heights previously unknown to man. Here, the tree of knowledge—taste the fruit and become immortal—nirvana—the ultimate understanding that good, pure unadulterated good, love, peace, and joy not only existed but was within reach. He felt as if he had reached the beginning and end of time—the mysteries of Heraclitus revealed—the origins of life, the concepts of time laid bare for his own pleasure.
Omnipotence.
And then the descent. A fall so spectacular, so sudden—the laughter of the serpent as Eve handed Adam the apple. The light replaced with impenetrable darkness—the sense of a presence beyond his comprehension—the serpents emerging from the deepest of depths. They silently slither, he felt their presence but could not escape. Frozen in place as their impossibly wide mouths open, they began to consume him from the bottom up. Acidic venom dissolved flesh and bone, searing pain as they slowly consumed his legs, savoring the taste of flesh.
All of the love, the purity, the joy now gone in the presence of the truth—the nature of man is evil—good will never triumph. He felt the suddenness of the void as it consumed him. The harsh truth pierced his side like a spear. There was no fall of man. It was a fallacy. Humanity was fallen from the start, impotent in the presence of the evil that permeates every molecule of the universe. Every desire for good just led to more evil.
He decided he must destroy all that is good.
Arms flailing, tearing, scratching, ripping flesh as he tried to free himself from the two-headed serpent—his heart—so fragile, so innocent, so...human—burst in his chest. He fell to the floor, a ragged mass of torn flesh, exposed bone, shredded skin. The once white floor—so pure, so untainted—now covered in blood, chunks of flesh, bits of bone.
The lesson he learned too late, the pursuits of man to understand that which was never intended to be understood. Evil, love, good, this knowledge is too potent, too intense for the feeble mind of man to possess.
Trials of the new psychotropic drug Infinitum were suspended indefinitely.
The room was incredibly white. So white that it looked as if there were no lines or edges at all. A clinical smoothness.
In the center of the room, a white chair sat next to a white table. On the table sat a small cup containing a clear liquid substance.
Subject A ingested the clear liquid. In an instant he was transported to a place in his mind that no drug had ever taken him before.
Elation, ecstasy, pure uninhibited joy flowed through his veins as he transcended to cerebral heights previously unknown to man. Here, the tree of knowledge—taste the fruit and become immortal—nirvana—the ultimate understanding that good, pure unadulterated good, love, peace, and joy not only existed but was within reach. He felt as if he had reached the beginning and end of time—the mysteries of Heraclitus revealed—the origins of life, the concepts of time laid bare for his own pleasure.
Omnipotence.
And then the descent. A fall so spectacular, so sudden—the laughter of the serpent as Eve handed Adam the apple. The light replaced with impenetrable darkness—the sense of a presence beyond his comprehension—the serpents emerging from the deepest of depths. They silently slither, he felt their presence but could not escape. Frozen in place as their impossibly wide mouths open, they began to consume him from the bottom up. Acidic venom dissolved flesh and bone, searing pain as they slowly consumed his legs, savoring the taste of flesh.
All of the love, the purity, the joy now gone in the presence of the truth—the nature of man is evil—good will never triumph. He felt the suddenness of the void as it consumed him. The harsh truth pierced his side like a spear. There was no fall of man. It was a fallacy. Humanity was fallen from the start, impotent in the presence of the evil that permeates every molecule of the universe. Every desire for good just led to more evil.
He decided he must destroy all that is good.
Arms flailing, tearing, scratching, ripping flesh as he tried to free himself from the two-headed serpent—his heart—so fragile, so innocent, so...human—burst in his chest. He fell to the floor, a ragged mass of torn flesh, exposed bone, shredded skin. The once white floor—so pure, so untainted—now covered in blood, chunks of flesh, bits of bone.
The lesson he learned too late, the pursuits of man to understand that which was never intended to be understood. Evil, love, good, this knowledge is too potent, too intense for the feeble mind of man to possess.
Trials of the new psychotropic drug Infinitum were suspended indefinitely.
The room was incredibly white. So white that it looked as if there were no lines or edges at all. A clinical smoothness.
In the center of the room, a white chair sat next to a white table. On the table sat a small cup containing a clear liquid substance.
Subject A ingested the clear liquid. In an instant he was transported to a place in his mind that no drug had ever taken him before.
Elation, ecstasy, pure uninhibited joy flowed through his veins as he transcended to cerebral heights previously unknown to man. Here, the tree of knowledge—taste the fruit and become immortal—nirvana—the ultimate understanding that good, pure unadulterated good, love, peace, and joy not only existed but was within reach. He felt as if he had reached the beginning and end of time—the mysteries of Heraclitus revealed—the origins of life, the concepts of time laid bare for his own pleasure.
Omnipotence.
And then the descent. A fall so spectacular, so sudden—the laughter of the serpent as Eve handed Adam the apple. The light replaced with impenetrable darkness—the sense of a presence beyond his comprehension—the serpents emerging from the deepest of depths. They silently slither, he felt their presence but could not escape. Frozen in place as their impossibly wide mouths open, they began to consume him from the bottom up. Acidic venom dissolved flesh and bone, searing pain as they slowly consumed his legs, savoring the taste of flesh.
All of the love, the purity, the joy now gone in the presence of the truth—the nature of man is evil—good will never triumph. He felt the suddenness of the void as it consumed him. The harsh truth pierced his side like a spear. There was no fall of man. It was a fallacy. Humanity was fallen from the start, impotent in the presence of the evil that permeates every molecule of the universe. Every desire for good just led to more evil.
He decided he must destroy all that is good.
Arms flailing, tearing, scratching, ripping flesh as he tried to free himself from the two-headed serpent—his heart—so fragile, so innocent, so...human—burst in his chest. He fell to the floor, a ragged mass of torn flesh, exposed bone, shredded skin. The once white floor—so pure, so untainted—now covered in blood, chunks of flesh, bits of bone.
The lesson he learned too late, the pursuits of man to understand that which was never intended to be understood. Evil, love, good, this knowledge is too potent, too intense for the feeble mind of man to possess.
Trials of the new psychotropic drug Infinitum were suspended indefinitely.
Just came across my Spotify recommendation and Jesus christ. Great concept too. They talk about working in a kitchen and how much it sucks lmao.
Hal was a frugal man. He enjoyed very few pleasures in life, and led what could be described as a spartan existence. His only indulgence was coffee. Rather than purchase coffee from the supermarket, he subscribed to a coffee of the month club, which provided him with an endless variety of organic and single origin varieties from all over the world.
After a difficult day at the office, Hal arrived home to find a package from The Bean Club. The frustration of his day forgotten, he picked up the box and rushed into the kitchen to inspect the latest delivery. This month was a good one; it included a Kona from Hawaii, Blue Mountain from Jamaica, and a new organic light roast from Argentina. He placed the others to the side and inspected the bag. It seemed a little on the heavy side. That’s a good sign, he thought to himself as he cracked the top of the package open on the Argentinian coffee.
The aroma hit him first. He couldn’t wait to grind the beans and brew a fresh cup. The unusual movement hit him next. Dozens of small, brown spiders began pouring out of the bag.
He stood frozen in place for a moment, trying to process what he was seeing, then dropped the bag onto the counter and got out of there as fast as possible. The last thing he saw as he closed the door was his beloved pour over coffee maker overrun with spiders. He closed the door in horror.
He stood in the hallway, heart racing, dripping with sweat and on the verge of hyperventilating. A neighbor heard the commotion and peeked his head out to see if everything was okay.
-- Spiders...everywhere...bad coffee...can’t go back in…
His words came out in bursts. He was clearly in shock. The neighbor, an acquaintance who had shared a cup with Hal on occasion, offered to call the exterminator. He took him inside to wait until he showed up.
-- Small brown spiders? Dozens? Are you sure there were dozens, Hal?
-- Dozens, yes, and if I’m right, which I hope I’m not, they looked like brown recluse spiders. I didn’t get a close look before I left but it seemed like they were just everywhere.
-- Shit. Those are the worst ones, aren’t they? Well, let’s hope that the exterminator can take care of this before it gets out of hand.
A half-hour passed, and there was a knock on the door. A horror-stricken Hal and his confused neighbor attempted to explain the spider situation to the exterminator.
-- I’m going to need you to show me the general area where the spiders originated from, and we’ll plan our attack from there.
-- Sure, just, go ahead of me please. Spiders freak me out.
-- No problem, I’m sure it’s not as bad as it looked. Our minds play tricks on us sometimes when we see something unexpected like that.
They entered the apartment together, and Hal showed him to the kitchen, where the bag of coffee was still on the counter. There were no spiders in sight. The exterminator poured the bag out onto the counter and several more of the ominous looking spiders scurried out, spreading in all directions. Hal jumped, and the exterminator laughed, then took a deep breath.
-- Well shit, I hate to be the bearer of bag news, but these are definitely brown recluse. You said they were pouring out of the bag?
Hal nodded.
-- Well, they could be anywhere now. These little guys love nooks and crannies. Poisonous as a bitch too.
Again, Hal nodded. He couldn’t have spoken if he tried.
-- Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to bomb those little bastards out of here. I’ll fumigate the entire apartment. Chances are, we’ll get all of them, but you’ll need to find a place to stay for a few days.
-- Thank you, thank you so much. Yes, I’ll just stay with my brother for a few days while you work this out. Would you mind coming with me to the bedroom while I grab a few things?
Together they walked through the apartment, eyes darting in all directions, looking for any evidence of the new residents in Hal’s apartment. He thought he saw spiders in every corner, watching him, waiting for the exterminator to leave. After he packed up some clothes and other necessary items - carefully checking for any stow-aways - he shook hands with the exterminator and headed off.
The next few days crawled by, Hal constantly checked his phone, waiting for a call from the exterminator. Any sudden movement, any sensation on his skin, freaked him out. His mental state declined from shock to paranoia, as all of his arachnophobic nightmares returned with a vengeance.
Three days later, he got a call from the exterminator saying that the apartment was clear. He had recovered over fifty spiders - at least one of them was pregnant - which explained the swarm that came out of the coffee bag. He was advised to keep an eye out, and that the bill would be in the mail.
Hal entered the apartment, his overwhelming paranoia causing him to stop and examine every inch, from floor to ceiling, as he walked through. He threw out the cursed coffee, and went into his bedroom to attempt a night’s sleep. A voice inside his head, quiet now, but growing, was telling him to get out while he was still alive, but he did his best to ignore it. The place was rent-controlled after all. After thoroughly checking every inch of the bedroom, pulling off all the sheets, and even checking in between the mattress and the boxspring, the little voice in his head subsided. He took a sleeping pill and fell into a fitful sleep.
His dreams were filled with spiders - crawling on him, crawling inside his body, covering him with a thick, impenetrable web out of which he could not escape. He awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, stifling a scream. Was his throat that itchy before he went to bed, or was he just being paranoid? Maybe it was a residual effect of the poison the exterminator had used to rid his home of the eight-legged horrors that now filled his dreams and his waking thoughts. Everywhere he looked, he saw their traces. A wisp of silver reflecting off of the light...remnants of a web? How quickly could a troop of tiny brown monsters infiltrate and overtake his home?
At work, it was no better. He was stricken with phantom itches, kept seeing scurrying legs dashing into dark spaces. His stomach felt strange, as if something was crawling inside of him. Could it be possible? The exterminator said he was free and clear. Maybe he was cracking up. All he wanted to do was get some sleep, but when sleeping, he couldn’t watch out for the spiders. They were everywhere, watching him, waiting for him to crack. He would, they knew, he was well on his way.
After a few hours of watching television, he calmed down, although his stomach still felt off. Maybe it was the Mexican he had for dinner. It never sat well with him, but it was comfort food, and comfort was what he needed right now. He popped another sleeping pill and again fell into a fitful sleep. More horrors awaited him as he sunk deeper into his subconscious. The spiders were inside of him, crawling, climbing, spinning macabre webs throughout his body. He was infested.
He awoke with a sudden urge to vomit and as he leaned over the toilet to purge his body, he felt a scratching in his throat. He knew without a doubt what it was. His stomach kicked and curled as it expelled dozens of spiders, pouring from his mouth, his nostrils. A relentless flow. As they exited, they attacked, biting him over and over and over. He was dead in less than a minute, the toxic venom coursing through his veins. He lay on his back, as the spiders went to work, enveloping him in a thick web. At least he could rest.
The silence in the town square was broken by the sickening thud of bone making contact with flesh, followed by a howl of pain. The man tried to flee but was immediately accosted by two of his assailants. They held him up by his armpits as the third continued to pummel him. Overhead a dark cloud was forming.
As the first drops of blood hit the ground, the customers from various stores, cafes, and businesses surrounding the green began to emerge, drawn to the violence, as humans often are.
The cloud continued to grow, now darkening the center of the square.
The assault continued as blood began to pour from the newly formed openings on the man’s face. The crowd closed in. Above, the cloud continued to expand.
The crowd turned into a mob. Friends and neighbors turned on one another, biting, kicking, punching, slapping. The four men who minutes before were alone in the square were soon lost in the midst of the angry mob. The violence continued to escalate - shattered faces, broken bones, chunks of flesh bitten off and spat on the ground. The square soon became a study in contrasts - the ever growing cloud above and the rivulets of blood now pouring onto the green.
Cries of rage, screams of pain, howls and grunts that resembled a cackle of hyenas more than a group of humans as the crowd continued to attack. A massacre in the making, crimson mixed with green, cast darker by the now massive cloud lingering over the square.
A sudden shift in energy. The grass absorbed the blood, as if quenching a deep thirst. Looks of confusion as the men, women, and children snapped out of their violent trance to find themselves covered with blood, sinew, brains, gnarled flesh, and muscle tissue. The cloud began to shrink as if it was never there, the former mob recoiling with horror at their inexplicable and unspeakable acts.
The last drop of blood fell and was swallowed up by the grass. The sky opened up, revealing a cloudless, bright blue sky.
Crowd was sated.