Wow. I had no idea pubic lice could even build theme parks, let alone abandon them — mine must just be lazy.

I can Koz-e-lek my own balls, thank you very much!

Consider the fate of this creature's poor mother, struck down in the fourth month of her maternal condition by a muppet, a wild muppet. Struck down on an uncharted African isle! The result is plain to see…ladies and gentlemen…the terrible… Muppet Man!

Not shopping there is about the closest thing I have to a religion, but before patting myself on the back, I have to wonder: how many other big box stores and supermarket chains do the same evil shit making their truck drivers commute several hours before full 8-hour shifts? My fear is that it's a fairly common…

[recalls first seeing Herzog's Even Dwarfs Started Small 4 decades ago]

Yes, it's hard to overstate how much the score adds to the sense of frigid isolation and impending doom, for both this and the Shining. As expressed below, the swelling dread of Kamen's piece for the opening credits, combined with the black shards filling the negative spaces to subtractively spell out DEAD ZONE…still…

"Makin' BOOKcases!"

Look, Larry. Have you ever heard of Vietnam?
You're entering a world of pain, son. A world of pain.

Eight-year-olds, dude.

Fuck it, let's double-down and die with our boots on, Dr. J!

Wait, I get it. He was always singing "won't you be my neighbor," and PBS is big government's tool for indoctrinating our children. So clearly Mr. Rogers represents the surveillance state, and the artist invites us all to become Snowden by rejecting/defiling it.

I blame Warhol. Yes, they've peeled away the whole onion of pretenses for subverting traditional forms and contents, and newer attempts to carve out niches of originality in modern or post modern fine art mostly come off like just more retro forms of narcissism than Pinterest or Instagram. Only some folk and outsider…

Avoid yellow Snowden?

Wasn't it always post-modernism's trajectory to travel up its own arse? Disqus.

Perpetually scruffy, he tenaciously clings to the loose threads of every case he takes, until it either unravels or he's pulled off it by his high-strung boss, Todd Lershoesmith.

Phil Supple pays the premium to cover your sweet perineum, baby.

Or, in an even more accurate way, Green Day loses for using hyperbole the most pathetically of everyone from #6 on, and Lucinda Williams is the winner for placing love just a leisurely 6-block stroll away, a perfectly healthy distance to walk daily and a reasonable goal for even those morbidly obese singles.

My wife is in the kitchen, but I'll be damned if I'm getting off this couch.

So why isn’t the rest of the Jews’ Vago's output any good?
There, FTFY, Mikey…

"TNT: BOOM, NOW WITH MORE COCAINE"