This was the week when The Internet won. Here are some of my favorite pictures from the internet.









Be nice. Keep it clean. Stay on topic. No spam.
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Boys with robot friend has created a new genre: nostalgia for a past that hasn’t come yet. My mind is spinning.
I look forward to these collections. On that note, you and your coven need to post more often.
Dorothy doing Marilyn is yum in the way that it made me think about the opposite fucka-ma-jig about dorothy being innocent girl from kansas and Marilyn being busty kennedy fucking debutard with more than a few glamourous ideosyncracies… (yeah, fuck the spelling of all that… i’m not even trying to make sense anymore… fuck it… let the world wonder) anyway, that fucked my head up. No, it was nice. Really.
Though, we both know, there is no fucking with Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I haven’t even seen the movie, like Casablanca, but even I know that it’s more than I deserve in my lifetime. Am I psychic? Probably fucking not, but the imagery, yes, it is either a glorious blessing or curse… it’s God or the Devil… really though, it could be beyond good and evil. Dorothy losing her virginity… that moment… that could be what that picture is about. (revisit the lebowitz miley cyrus photo cover blah blah blah… that is what she was saying… No, it’s “girl you’ll be a woman soon”, not by neil diamond, but by urge over kill.) The breakfast at tiffany’s though, it’s the little dove I saw the morning when they told me my best friend woke up from the o.d.’ed coma. It’s that. Beyond beautiful, but not so pretty you’d fucking hate it for jealousy sake. Audrey Hepburn… her vagina is what is inside pandora’s box.
I’ve decided to visit you less, but give you more per capita per word and talk in a really schizophrenic drug addict logic. It could be awhile before I return. I honestly came here to look at the source code. Then, I thought… why would I do that without saying hello? THAT, now that would be rude.
p.s. next time some lame muddy fucker allows the words: “net etiquette” roll off their tounge… slap them in the goddamn face really dramatically, then say:
“The hell you say!”
and walk off like Joan Collins as Alexis Carrington… then send the mother fuckers to me for charm school. Shit no… I know net etiquette.
P.S.S. I’d put in my real e-dress, but we all know nobody would use it. Besides, that fucks with the mystery.
Cups and saucers. Saucers - what a quaint relic. Making smoking and drinking coffee twice as hard.
And to wonk-relapsed: wish you had included some kind of link. I’d follow it just to see what else such a schizophrenic drug addict had to say.