A coworker of mine recently introduced me to Swedish Fish Oreo Cookies, and if that suggestion makes you a bit nauseous, I feel that’s to be expected. I mean, don’t get me wrong; Swedish Fish and Oreo Cookies are separate but equally good snack foods, but when you combine the two, it tears society apart, and eats away at its very core.
And then you wonder why society’s in the state it’s in, today. Look at the signs, people! They’re in the cookie aisle.
My primary issue with it is that there are sixty-eight different varieties of Oreo Cookie. I know this, because I looked it up. But all the other varieties, no matter how exotic, make sense with milk, because that is the intended coupling of Oreos. Oreos are meant to be dunked in milk. Or, if you’re broke and didn’t plan your groceries very well, crumbled up into a bowl of milk and you call that shit cereal. Point being, Oreos are meant to be eaten with milk.
What sort of godless heathen is washing down fistfuls of Swedish Fish with a tall glass of milk?
In my opinion there are only three acceptable kinds of Oreo: original, peanut butter, and mint. Some might argue Double Stuf, but I’m a little more traditional and believe snacking is between two cookies and one cream.
(listen at bit.ly/yffl-schinderle)
I heard from a coworker, this past week, that people have started cheating at Pokemon Go. I guess they’re hacking into the code to get through the levels faster, which is appalling to me, because the point of a time suck is to suck away the time, and if you get through it faster, you’re effectively wasting a waste of time.
And there are plenty of things you should cheat at, in life, like business, taxes, and being vegan, but the wasting of time is sacred; just look at marriage and religion – the only difference being, unlike marriage, Pokemon might get you laid; and unlike religion, involvement with Pokemon doesn’t automatically make you an asshole, but in all three cases, it isn’t until you stop doing them that you realize you have nothing to show for your efforts.
(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/binta)
I may lose my membership for telling you this, but there really is a race war goins on; it’s widely televised and passive aggressive as fuck, and here’s how it works:
Every couple of years, we [People of Color] coin some new, irrational slang term like “fo’ shizzle,” “bootylicious,” or “fuck boy,” and place it prominently into a pop song just gully enough to retain street cred, but just Top 40 enough fa’ yo’ punk asses to peep the new flava; and we’ll play it around you every chance we get, until you lose yo’ goddamn minds and start saying it too, at which point we stop … immediately – just to make you look like assholes. You can rest assured, if we listen to an urban classic in the privacy of our own homes, we sing that shit loud and proud, like it’s the dopest shit on the block, but let us hear you say it and we won’t hesitate to tell you we don’t fux with that shit no more – or as y’all would say, “that shit is whack, dawg.”
It’s a bit shady and I know that, but fair is fair, and y’all muthafuckas did fire the first shots.
(listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/parks)
On my way from the store, this morning, I almost got hit by a truck. And that was fine, but I noticed it had a bumper sticker of the Confederate flag, and that’s not the Portland I know and love. The Portland I know and love has always been a safe haven for free and progressive thinkers who embrace people of every ethnicity, nationality, and creed regardless of sex, gender, or orientation – as long as they live across a bridge.
But I’ve given it some thought, and maybe that guy’s not racist, at all. Maybe he just got a real good deal on a racist truck. Isn’t that possible?
Like you go to a dealership, and there’s a perfectly good Subaru from the late ’80s; it runs real good, but it’s still a little spendy given all the holes and dents in the framework, and the fact that it’s all fucked up on the inside. But right next to it, you have this shiny, new truck – like nothing you’ve ever seen before – for $1000 less, with a KKK decal. Well, what do you do?
It seems clear to me, you buy the truck and some white sheets; your hands are tied. I mean, ideals are good and all, but you can’t beat a good deal.
(listen at bit.ly/yffl-foreal)
I realize, on the this show, I might seem to make fun of heterosexuals a lot, but I don’t mean it. In fact, I consider myself to be sort of a hetero ally, and I recognize that traditional masculinity is under constant attack, with the LGBTQ community adding a new abbreviation every week, and sending our trans brothers and sisters into public restrooms, shooting fag spores in the air to turn you. So, I get it. You’re under constant attack, and I want to help.
If you’re going to survive to apocalisp, I recommend you just stay home; preferably inside your closets. And don’t talk, because if you say anything, we’ll find you and try to change you. It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers. So, just stay home, inside your closets, and shut the fuck up… forever. And I promise you’ll make it through these bright and troubled days ahead.
(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/weber)
I was waiting for the bus after a show, the other night. I want to say it was some time between eleven and midnight, given my level of intoxication and self-doubt. So, my only option for food was the 24 hour Subway downtown, and parked right there by the door was a transient gent watching Netflix on what I can only assume to have been his laptop, and in the moment, I thought to myself, “Priorities.” Because surely, on some plain of reality, food, shelter, or a job application might trump Lady Dynamite.
And I know some people say you shouldn’t give cash to the homeless, because they’ll just waste it on drugs and liquor, but that assumes the average substance abuser would rather spend their time begging for money than die of an overdose behind a strip club, after the best drug binge of their life. And, as a strong supporter of death with dignity, that position strikes me as cruel and inhumane. All the same, I’ve contrived what I believe to be a reasonable compromise: put the money in an envelope labeled with its intended use – be that food, shelter, or Netflix.
Most of my envelopes read “MANICURE,” because surely I’m not the only one to notice the peculiar percentage of transients with long, thick fingernails. So, the least they could do is wash them to reveal the perfect, all natural (or perhaps, drug and liquor induced) French manicure I believe resides just below the fungus.
(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/kreye)
I recently moved into a new apartment, which is great.
I had been living in a house, but I think my poverty made my neighbors uncomfortable. And it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, since me and my five adult housemates lived in the sort of neighborhood where all of our neighbors owned their houses, and cars, and campers, and houseboats, and landing strips.
I imagine them looking out their windows, at me and my housemates, thinking, “These niggas don’t even own a Prius. Look at ’em! Walking. Catching buses. Making us feel bad. I can’t even enjoy my Cognac on the veranda in peace. You know what? Conner! Debbie! To the helicopters!”
(listen at https://soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/murphy)
With so much conflict and turmoil in the world these days, could there be a more serendipitous time to release PokemonGo? What better way to take your mind off racial and nationalistic strife than virtual slavery and eugenics?
I mean, you enter their habitat, track them down, and capture them. Then you breed and train them to fight each other. My only question is how long the debate lasted in the marketing department over whether to call it Pokemon or SlaveFights, and I’m not a particularly smart person, so I don’t know that Pokemon isn’t the Japanese word for “slave fighters.”
(listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/rowell)
Personally, I could never keep an animal in captivity, and I’m not judging anyone else who has a domestic companion. I just personally feel uncomfortable fostering Stockholm Syndrome.
But I do have one exception, and that would be for a corgi. Have you seen these things? I imagine if I had a corgi, I would just spend all my time with that dog, judging it and chastising it for its stupid, little legs. Have you seen a corgi try to chase something? It looks exactly like a Slinky trying to skull-fuck a gopher. I swear to god.
I would love that dog… less and less, everyday, until I just had it put down for no reason.
(listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/valdivia)
A coworker of mine recently had their first kid and suggested that people would reproduce less if they only knew how hard it was to be a parent, which I think we can all agree is bullshit.
We all know how hard it is to be a parent, because that’s the only thing parents ever talk about. In fact, were you to be honest with yourself, your earliest childhood memory is one or both of your parents telling you how shitty it is to be your parent(s). You can go ahead and repress that memory all you want, but the scars are still there – on the inside – where it counts.
(listen at http://www.soundcloud.com/yourfaultforlistening/christopher)