Wednesday Afternoon Full Sugar Links

Wednesday Afternoon Full Sugar Links

Howdy, Glibs and mythical Glibertarian women, sorry I missed you last week. I would describe last Thursday as "random acts of senseless vomiting" at the L house. The oldest three boys and myself had a nice little stomach bug. I don't expect a 5 year old to make it to...

Thursday Afternoon Links

Thursday Afternoon Links

Happy first Thursday in August, y'all. I just have to get through until Tuesday, and everyone will be back to school. I get to have my damn regular life back. I have started taking my 12 year old son to the gym. I'll be honest with y'all, Private Pyle was in better...

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.