As a pre-teen, everything I knew about the world came from car-chase movies and it's remarkable, to me at least, how true what I learned was.
Thank you, car movies, for being the wise and cynical uncle I never had.

He's rich in staggering ignorance. And punchable face-osity, evidently.

"I'm the Holy Father and this turd can't even button his jacket? Sheeesh."

That is the work of Fischli and Weiss, I believe.

Esther Zuckerman makes the worthwhile point, which is backed up by the show itself, that privilege is the underpinning for the existence of Marfa. I live down the road from this place, but I fail to visit very often as it feels unwelcoming to regular west Texans who neither know nor care to know the shibboleths. I…

Yep. It sinks its teeth into a person. I'm a mechanic and am working on a '59 Biscayne for a client: the vehicle was a derelict fished out of a backyard and requires, well, everything. Spent several weeks fabricating and welding in floors as its former owners saw fit to leave the poor thing open to the elements for…

Any other lowriders here? I drive a '64 Galaxie 500, no hydraulics or bags but about a pack of smokes from the deck.
Its name is Paco, The Lowrider of Goodwill. We were in the Cinco De Mayo parade last weekend.

As the lyric goes,
"Every junky pile of person has a thinking part that wonders what the part that isn't thinking isn't thinking of".

I know! It's loafsome.

He once parachuted into Mpls. and recorded an LP for the tremendously fucked-up band Jonestown, All Day Sucker. So there you go.

Old is good- better'n fuckin' young, dammit.

Yes, the note even included a delightful Strangelove reference- really admired Tar, hyperprecise bluecollar smartypants gents. Breaking Circus is especially treasured here in Foiled Manor as one of its members was a roommate, and of course there is the Circus' kissin' cousin Rifle Sport, for that Chicago/Minneapolis…

Tar, yes. Only band I ever sent a fan note to- and Mark Z actually wrote back a letter on notebook paper, which is folded up inside a copy of Over And Out.
Or Breaking Circus, Effigies, Strike Under…ehh. Fuggit. More space for The Rupert Pupkins, I guess.

You're not making a bit of sense.

You think Trump maybe lost his ball bearings?

"Looks like someone upstairs has enuresis"

Replacing all suspension bushings on a ‘59 Chevy along with all rear bushings, so 16 in all including the Panhard bar bushing. Mostly a BFH job despite my having a balljoint press. Removing the rubber accomplished nothing apart from wasting time. BFHed the new ones in...and yes, a press would be handy.

The toe tag reads "Mentally exhausted….and morally bankrupt'.

I look at and listen to this lipless fuck Spicer and I see and hear Frank Burns.

Not DC and hardly hardcore, but this kinda rules: