final lolution

athene hehe...

http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/page/news/47356-shia-labeouf-working-on-cage-biopic

"when I found out that Cage was white, it was incredible."

Not that I don't love Cage, but what the fuck planet does this guy live on?

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/79/Planet_hollywood_disney.jpg/800px-Planet_hollywood_disney.jpg

I like Shia The Beef, though.

just thought that shit was funny

if you can fwd photo via txt i can up

XD

lol you turdz

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ycB2_NcQxk

planet lollywod

AHAHAHAHAH HOLY SHIT

http://youtube.com/watch?v=N0PXuVc9Vgk

KissFreak09 (2 weeks ago) Show Hide Marked as spam
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I laughed my ass off, I like it when WONDER WOMAN swore!!!

xpost A+ for "pants trouble" guy!

is that sarah silverman doing wonderwoman's voice?

last night wifee heard a clip of Forever by the beach boys and kinda squeed and told me how much she loved that song, that she doesn't remember where she'd heard it, but it kinda makes her cry to listen to it.

then this morning we came up with this conclusion
http://youtube.com/watch?v=hv1fRVEa6y0

jaxon is this your wife:

GANGSTACHICK21 (1 week ago) 0
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i love this epsiode i cried when he sang this song
GANGSTACHICK21 (1 week ago) 0
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i love this episode i cried whe he sang this song on their wedding day

yes, and don't make fun of her, she'll shank you

The members of Ghost all have really nice hair!
-- Ian c=====8 (orion), Monday, September 27, 2004 8:58 PM (3 years ago) Bookmark Link

http://img217.imageshack.us/img217/8494/0000012ck.gif

milonakis.avi

Btw; Check out Amy Adams singing That's How You Know from Enchanted. I'll YSI it later today if you guys are interested.

-- Mordechai Shinefield

Nevermind. You can watch it here: http://youtube.com/watch?v=xRYU4cqUAUs

:)

-- Mordechai Shinefield

sigh.

Writing for Rolling Stone would've meant validation at age 22. The best man won, but the taste of defeat is still so bittersweet.
by Andrew Miller
Issue date: 4/5/07

One of my biggest, boldest, most perverse dreams - writing for Rolling Stone - seemed so within reach until Tuesday. After three months of waiting, I found out I'd lost to a foe (and Facebook friend) in the "I'm From Rolling Stone" contest, which ran in conjunction with MTV's reality series of the same name.

This all started the night before Spring semester commenced. I'd just returned from Puerto Vallarta, aching to re-establish a sense of normality after a week of tequila, seasickness and strange food. Lying in bed around 11 p.m., making my regular Internet rounds, I spotted a writing contest on rollingstone.com. The assignment was easy enough: Write 10 questions for an artist of your choosing in 300 words or less.

John Mayer was the first artist to come to mind, and shamefully, the artist I knew the most about without need for research. So 10 minutes and 10 questions later, I submitted my entry. I didn't think anything of it. Having almost forgotten about the contest entirely, I checked back that Saturday to find I was a weekly finalist. The following Wednesday, I found out I'd won the week's competition. My reward? A cheap electric guitar, a cheap mp3 player, but the priceless experience of my name plastered on rollingstone.com's home page in big, bold type. You couldn't miss it if you tried.

From there, things got crazy. The following day, John Mayer took the questions and posted his answers on his blog. (The same blog I've been reading now since - God, this is lame - my senior year of high school.) US Weekly took interest and posted a story about it on their Web site. So did People Magazine. The next day, I was a front-page story in the Mankato Free Press. It was an awkward position as the writer being the news. (I guess you can't really know how strange it feels unless you're someone who actually writes news. Complete role-reversal.)

My head left spinning, this was only the beginning of a grueling wait to see if I would be chosen among 10 weekly winners for a three-month writing gig with Rolling Stone. (Not to mention, the recipient of a new Apple MacBook, but that's minor in comparison.)

About a week later, when things started to calm down, I did an arbitrary Facebook search - you've done it, too! - to find the winner from week one. (I'd won week two.) I found him: Mordechai Shinefield, 22, newly married, a student at Yeshiva in New York City. We traded friendly messages over Facebooks, shared our disbelief, wished each other luck, lamented our inability to play guitar and expressed intolerance for all non-iPod mp3 players.

The night before the verdict, I knew it was between Mordechai and myself. Interest in the contest dropped off dramatically after the first few weeks and entrants became down right pathetic. Even as I waited all of seven hours Tuesday for an announcement - leaving me with a migraine - I began to suspect Mordechai was the lucky winner. After a few shots and beers at South Street, I conceded to the fact he deserved it. Sure, I meant all the pleasantries I had sent him leading up to the verdict, but dammit, writing for Rolling Stone is my dream, too.

So here's the thing: I had the chance to achieve a dream by way of a contest and I lost. It happens. But in a way, I'm relieved, because the dream remains and I'd rather earn it on my own merits and not by some promotional contest. To entertain a hope, have a dream be so damn close to reality, is one of the most pleasurable things in life. No matter how delusional it seems, I was able to experience this for three months straight. So how can I be mad I didn't win a chance to write for Rolling Stone?

Well, it is Rolling Stone.

Mordechai Sheffield is 22? I assumed he was, y'know, 47.

all of those guys who write like 'that' seem to be either college age music bloggers who strawman out their peers to seem more wise, or middle-aged ex-village voice freelancers.

expressed intolerance for all non-iPod mp3 players.

Radio Disney's dominance is skewing the "teenpop" center ever younger, which may leave a probing and restless brainiac like Ashlee out in the cold, faced with the choice of dumbing herself down for the adults or dumbing herself down for the kids, or simply fading out - though Aly & A.J. continue to probe restlessly and lucratively within the Disney confines.

kogan?

^^^

way too much restless probing going on there

I would say "buy a fucking thesaurus" but some people do not need their creepcabulary expanded.

mankato free press? was the dude from mankato?

every junior high and high school has that weird kid who never says a word and idealizes from afar those hot, popular chicks of mediocre-to-average intelligence. they eventually grow up into relatively stable adults. or they find a teenpop thread.

they eventually grow up into relatively stable adults All Thanks to Thom Yorke & The Radioheads!!!

every junior high and high school has that weird kid who never says a word and idealizes from afar those hot, popular chicks of mediocre-to-average intelligence. they eventually grow up into relatively stable adults. or they find a teenpop thread.

-- omar little, Thursday, December 6, 2007 4:05 PM (39 minutes ago) Bookmark Link

did you write superbad?

yes. don't tell morbs.

mankato free press? was the dude from mankato?

-- M@tt He1ges0n, Thursday, December 6, 2007 8:53 PM (1 hour ago)

I would also like to know this thing.

But the women had another revenge to wreak on him. They moved round, smelling him like she-wolves. They were all seeking for some outrage, some savagery that would relieve them.

Mother Brulé's shrill voice was heard: "Cut him like a tomcat!"

"Yes, yes, after the cat! after the cat! He's done too much, the dirty beast!"

Mouquette was already unfastening and drawing off the trousers, while the Levaque woman raised the legs. And Mother Brulé with her dry old hands separated the naked thighs and seized this dead virility. She took hold of everything, tearing with an effort which bent her lean spine and made her long arms crack. The soft skin resisted; she had to try again, and at last carried away the fragment, a lump of hairy and bleeding flesh, which she brandished with a laugh of triumph.

"I've got it! I've got it!"

Shrill voices saluted with curses the abominable trophy.

"Ah! swine! you won't fill our daughters any more!"

"Yes! we've done with paying on your beastly body; we shan't any more have to offer a backside in return for a loaf."

"Here, I owe you six francs; would you like to settle it? I'm quite willing, if you can do it still!"

This joke shook them all with terrible gaiety. They showed each other the bleeding fragment as an evil beast from which each of them had suffered, and which they had at last crushed, and saw before them there, inert, in their power. They spat on it, they thrust out their jaws, saying over and over again, with furious bursts of contempt:

"He can do no more! he can do no more!--It's no longer a man that they'll put away in the earth. Go and rot then, good-for-nothing!"

Mother Brulé then planted the whole lump on the end of her stick, and holding it in the air, bore it about like a banner, rushing along the road, followed, helter-skelter, by the yelling troop of women. Drops of blood rained down, and that pitiful flesh hung like a waste piece of meat on a butcher's stall. Up above, at the window, Madame Maigrat still stood motionless; but beneath the last gleams of the setting sun, the confused flaws of the window-panes distorted her white face which looked as though it were laughing. Beaten and deceived at every hour, with shoulders bent from morning to night over a ledger, perhaps she was laughing, while the band of women rushed along with that evil beast, that crushed beast, at the end of the stick.

This frightful mutilation was accomplished in frozen horror. Neither Étienne nor Maheu nor the others had had time to interfere; they stood motionless before this gallop of furies. At the door of the Estaminet Tison a few heads were grouped--Rasseneur pale with disgust, Zacharie and Philoméne stupefied at what they had seen. The two old men, Bonnemort and Mouqe, were gravely shaking their heads. Only Jeanlin was making fun, pushing Bébert with his elbow, and forcing Lydie to look up. But the women were already coming back, turning round and passing beneath the manager's windows. Behind the blinds the ladies were stretching out their necks. They had not been able to observe the scene, which was hidden from them by the wall, and they could not distinguish well in the growing darkness.

"What is it they have at the end of that stick?" asked Cécile, who had grown bold enough to look out.

Lucie and Jeanne declared that it must be a rabbitskin.

"No, no," murmured Madame Hennebeau, "they must have been pillaging a pork butcher's, it seems to be a remnant of a pig."

Superbad has been mentioned too many times on this message board in the past few days...

o shit..

happy hanukkah
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDwEnFhMVOU

http://www.flickr.com/photos/jmabel/470174589/in/photostream

Who was this Maigrat person and why was his depenistration so amusing?

my old 'hood

fhuk

uuuggh

bw Q and corcoran on what street?

just yknow curious

that's from germinal, right?