Sub-sti-tute Morning Links

Sub-sti-tute Morning Links

Thursday. Shit, still only Thursday... does drunken tai chi and punches mirror. It's the second week of school, so things are still a little unsettled here. I'm picking up someone else's mess at work because, well, I guess the idea that a data person would understand...

Thursday Morning Links of Brett

Thursday Morning Links of Brett

Happy Thursday, y'all. I've been slaving away all week while my parents took my older two to Mount Rushmore and other places where dogs don't bite their owners twice. Its weird to have only the little two. Somehow there's still 80% as much work, but only 20% as much...

Brett set out to find America, the real America, the America of strip malls and serial killers, of butthole waxing and kelp smoothies, of cocaine and maggots. He sought it in the most American part of America—Florida: swamp gas and fever dreams, where love arrives on a rickety boat and leaves when it doesn't have the money for its fourth abortion. Oh, where has Brett gone? He’s drinking at the neck of America’s wang, chewing its foreskin and working its shaft. Brett is becoming legend. Brett can never die. Brett can never die. Brett is America, facedown in his own patriotic puke: the red his blood, the white his stomach lining, and the cold, cold blue his gas station slushie, spiked with coconut rum and tetracycline.