We all want to fuck each other, I think. I want to fuck my boss, and also her boss. She'd do it if it weren't for her pesky children and mortgage. At work we can make all the vague innuendos we want, and alcoholism is a vice accepted with a knowing wink. I told all...
It tastes exactly like liquified obscure Mars bars.
Steven started blowing out bits of blood in his nose into my sink. I asked if he was OK. He replied, Oh, it’s just the coke.
Brooklyn's Dimitri Karakostas gets around. His scratchy negatives are like the beatup, bleeding kids rolling on skateboards through suburban wastelands. And in the process of getting washed in all that grim, grease and grit, there's a lot of self-discovery.
“Do be do be do”
—Frank Sinatra (who never learned to play a single instrument)
Romanian Costică Acsinte (1897-1984) was an official war photographer during the first Great War. After he was discharged, he opened a studio in Slobozia. In 1985, around 5000 of Acsinte's glass plates (developed between 1935 and 1945) were purchased by the Ialomița County Museum, who began to digitize them in mid-2013.
If done right (wrong?) your soup will look as appetizing as this.
This week’s photos come from Joseph Abbruscato who slunk down to the Salton Sea in Niland, CA. He tries to make a yearly pilgrimage there to document the decay of the, well, decay.
The eeriness only added to the suspense of getting caught by the cops, but I even felt a bit sad thinking how this is where these so-called American heroes wound up.
It's about due that the world got a pope that understands the maladies of society, what needs to be done and most importantly, what does not. This is absolutely amaze-balls except for one easily overlooked facet – it's horseshit!
It is a drink based upon a delicious dish I encountered in the northeastern portion of our country, specifically in the outskirts of Philadelphia.
I heard voices on the other side. Voices like, What are you doing? and How’d you get in there?
