Speaking on behalf of all my fellow creeps

from the comments

SC on December 7th, 2012:

Fifth grade field trip to visit Senator Strom Thurmond. I’m wearing a light brown corduroy suit (in May, in South Carolina), a white shirt, and a green (don’t know why) tie. My class gathers in Thurmond’s office. Thurmond shows up (with orange hair, even way back then) and socializes with the girls, and only the girls, in the class. Several young women sit in Thurmond’s lap while socializing. Our teacher asks the class to gather around Thurmond’s desk for a group photo. Photos are taken. Then, there’s a warm sensation around my tie and some sort of salty liquid in my mouth. My friend Jonathan looks at me and screams “Bathroom! Bloody nose!” then he puts his hand on my face, possibly to help, but he ends up making a bloody handprint on my shirt. I run to the bathroom and bleed for a while in a sink while security guys mill about like personal bathroom attendants. I take my shirt off, button my corduroy coat to the top, turn the collar up, and spend the rest of the field trip testing various theories of invisibility.

Tonight I will sleep the sleep of the justified.

This is so cool I can’t hardly stand it.

I’ve been way way down lately, so when India’s and Lucy’s friend Heather commenced live-tweeting about Elmore Leonard from the National Book Awards, I got all excited. She and I got going back and forth, and I told her about my crush on Leonard. And we got talking about one of Leonard’s minor gifts — how he never strikes a false note when he writes about music. Anyway . . .

She said she’d try and get me a photo. And she did.

dear clusterflock

In need of cheap lodging for perhaps 4-6 weeks. Have access to same for period required. Physical conditions rough but livable.

Note: Premises likely haunted.

Question: Is this wise?

If a Comment Falls on C’Flock…

Will it make a sound?

Wedding Moment…

I’ll leave you to complete the story.


Strange to think that if Emmett Till had lived, he’d be seventy-one this day.

I met his mother once.

You’re hurting my eyes

and you’re hurting my mind and I wish the hell you would stop. And not just for my sake.

Please take a breath and reconsider posting that captioned image du jour. Do you know the one I mean? Its import is by and large political; oftimes it will feature a stock photo of a politician (or two) emblazoned with a snappy quip, ill-positioned and rendered in an ugly font. You must know what I have in mind.

I see such images mainly on Facebook, where they’re hard to avoid without hiding all of your posts.

And I wonder: What is the point?

These clumsy graphics you share and re-share are not great nor even good political art. They are not effective pieces of propaganda. They simply confirm sentiments held by the bulk of your contacts.

And they look like they been slapped together by somebody whomping an ugly stick.

So: For my sake and for your sake and for the sake of all that is true and beautiful, will you please pause and consider whether you really want to share that lame-ass piece of dreck?

Standing There Hot and Doing Nothing (Wooly Bully)

It’s like the man said, commenting: “Having hot girls just standing there doing nothing was the coolest thing ever.”


Lord Ganesh is in a watermelon patch. He don’t need no Walmart.

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