Thursday Oh Crap Afternoon Links

Thursday Oh Crap Afternoon Links

Man, time really got away from me this afternoon. I was chasing down a bug that was randomly assigning records to the wrong person. But only once in a while. Anyhow, here's some links! Oh now, the Dems are threatening FISA. That would be a damn shame. I've worked in...

Wednesday Afternoon Linkages

Wednesday Afternoon Linkages

Good afternoon, my glibs and mythical glibettes. I hope this Wednesday afternoon finds y'all a bit less harried than it finds me. My company went live with my application as their main line of business application, and it has been about as good as one could hope,...

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.