For parents who preferred that all of their children's entertainment material was created by people tripping balls, Unico and the Island of Magic was a godsend. It was a cartoon about this vaguely messianic baby unicorn named Unico who was just as cute as a button.
At some point, Unico encounters a stoner named Melvin the Magnificat who calls the little unicorn, "Peewee" and mocks him relentless for his small stature. Melvin listens to headphones that have little tiny bird singing in them, because he is deranged. Here he is, punching a baby unicorn in the face, like a psychopath:
Now a bunch of weird shit happens with an enchanted boy flute-playing boy named Toby and his sister and several people that get turned into blocks. All of this weird shit happens because of one gnarly motherfucker named Lord Kuruku. He is an insane sorcerer who reigns terror from a floating bubble:
Are you following so far?
Okay, let's move on. When Lord Kuruku gets mad, things get really scary:
And then things get weird when you find out that Lord Kuruku never had friends:
I felt bad for Lord K. but didn't really relate to him because I was busy resembling other misfit cartoons that were inexplicably given to children:
So imagine my surprise when I put on this seemingly innocuous hat this morning...
And I was suddenly transformed into a spitting image of that wicked Lord Kuruku!!!!
I cursed the gods, gnashed my teeth, and begged for answers from on high. How could I, the one who had so feared the Lord Kuruku, so easily become him? And just then, an apparition appeared to me....
Fucking useless as ever.
Dallas: great fucking TV show about rich sluts. Dallas, TX: terrible fucking city where I was recently trapped overnight because American Airlines was like, "We destroy everything we touch, JK, LOL.... but no, really you do have to stay overnight in Dallas." Then they show their appreciation for your business with these food vouchers that you can't even trade with the homeless for cigarettes or something cooler than a bag of Rolos and a seltzer.
What the fuck can I get for $19 at 11pm in Dallas? Whole lotta nothin'! But worry not, friends. I wasn't hungry for food so much as I was hungry for luxury and that's where American Airlines really delivered with my swank accommodations at the Super 8. Behold the chic antique elevator from Hell:
And how you get not one but TWO shampoos (but no conditioner and certainly no toothpaste):
And the linens. I was so delighted by their soft embrace that I nearly ate the damn things.
Did I mention the cuisine? It was a gourmet Italian feast fit for a Head Bitch in Charge:
I felt so goddam fancy that I even hand-washed all of my underwear from the weekend and made a pseudo-flag of Serbia with the blue, red, and white.
Then I took a bunch of selfies to pass the time and try to get my mind off the fact that some sort of Texas chainsaw massacring fellow was banging on doors all night and the only comfort was the blather of those sad creatures that agreed to be on that Aaron Sorkin joint for the Home Box Office. Behold, faces of despair.
Vigilantes! Sometimes we need them to right wrongs that those cowards in law enforcement don't have time/competence/souls for! Sometimes vigilantes are just bitter or profit-seeking dick-mold that dedicate entire websites to outing women alleged to bed some other broad's piece requiring no evidence. To those vigilantes, I say "Fuck you, get the bubonic plague, and be convinced in a fever dream that the only cure is going down on the corpse of a tree sloth." On Voting Day, I was the bad bitch that I so often am and took not one but TWO "I Voted" stickers. Witness me with my contraband below:
Now my plan was to sit out the next election, dust this sucker off and wear it again in two years. BUT THE FATES HAD DIFFERENT PLANS, AS THEY OFTEN DO. I went on my morning run to Brighton Beach and on the train ride back to my abode saw that someone had put up some janky wanted poster featuring a woman's name, photograph, and several charming accusations against her.
First of all, you can be a slut, you can be a man stealer, or you can be a whore, but you cannot, I repeat , YOU CANNOT be all three at once. Sluts give it away for free, man stealers are ultimately girlfriends, and whores get paid for that shit so make up your damn mind when you throw around your bullshit names.Also, know who wrecks homes? PEOPLE THAT LIVE INSIDE THEM SO QUIT BLAMING THE SIDE PIECE FOR THAT SHIT. I decided that this broad in the picture looked real nice and tried to take down the whole flyer but the MTA staff was creeping around hard so I had to quickly affix my sticker over her face so at least one fewer subway car will be adorned with her face in an attempt to humiliate someone that most likely didn't do anything wrong and some asshole is just pissed at her and throwing her face up on the subway like some deranged Regina George with a MetroCard and too much free time.
So I put my contraband sticker on her face and am hoping that the motherfucker that put up the signs in the first places sees it and maybe, just maybe realizes that there is a bitch army ready to use the power of democracy novelty stickers for good against their stupid cheater-shaming websites and their budget metro flyers.