Charge It to the Game
Some cool meth faces images:
Charge It To The Game
Image by toastycakes
omglikesotrue.blogspot.com
I wish i could write paragraphs about the love and the hate i feel for YouTube… but I would sound way too much like Dave. Look for kate and for french cinema. Anything sixteen-year-old girls do is amazing (in life and on this silly lil website), so check out their remixes of pride & prejudice and lipsyncs to the cardigans and lisa loeb.
If you’re a middle class homo and you’re browsing the Furio collection at Target like you’re on Robertson (checking for, ummm, stability), holding your cocker spaniel as if it were a tea cup poodle it’s either time to find yourself a sugar daddy or let that AZT prescription lapse, ‘cos honey, the race is over, the rats have won! An aside, maybe chez Target twenty-somethings aren’t as fly as the kitson crowd, but their jammies are bangin! They make you wanna sit up and beg for butter!
I love los angeles. A lot. But every time I hear 90lb leotard-jeans-wearing emo shithead talk about the scene i want to snap his fucking neck like a twig and make his meth-face jewish brentwood bitch carry his teeth home in her faux chloé purse! To say that every kid in los angeles is going through an identity crisis is more than an understatement. I lived in echo park for a minute in 2001, before the art kids completely gentrified / williamsburgled the place… now it’s like Watt Hall, north. I don’t know what these kids’ problem is, but I think it has something to do with wanting the cocaine of the 80s but the sloppy fashion of 90s (like some Theta somewhere ate her entire closet of junior high chic, from Fresh prince kicks and graphic tees to grunge to candy flipping raverfag gear before purging a pair of too-tight chords, pit-stained tees, and some iteration of the fedora onto these fuckers!), and the sexlessness of 1950s television. The girls all look like rejects from the VICE Don’ts page, pale, thin, blemished skin from laying in bed every day until 9pm, watching shitty tv that wasn’t good the first time around, but now is like, soooo ironic!, on a steady diet of cyrstal and parliments because their west-l.a. or waspy parents have either written them off as an incidental or are so diluted, thinking their precious moments will someday make something of their lives because, after all they are living the scene. A few days ago a girl told me her mother set her up with someone via eharmony and asked me how she looked – she said the magic words – "be honest." So I told her, she honestly looked like an extra from Danced with Wolves. Just because your fuggo friends tell you it’s okay to wear your greasy matted-down, blackened Uggs that smell like an oyster’s cunt over your unshaved, blanco thunder-cankles and your stretched-out, frumpy, bunching Juicy pseudo-sweats and a petticoat doesn’t mean the lawyer/doctor/turkish prince who’s trying to shred your asshole is gonna appreciate trying to figure out of he needs to be treated for lice or for crabs!
But any way… these kids. going to an Echo Park art kid / hipster party is like going to a high-school valley party, but more dsperate! Everyone is doing their version of puffing out their chest, and playing some sort of too-cool-for-school but they’re all scared shitless because they have no idea what they’re doign with their lives. Having an impromptu thermin jam-sesh, talking about how they knew The Mae-Shi before they were big (didn’t you know! you’re not big until Animal Collective asks you to collab, and you’re not indie ’til you turn down that offer from DIM MAK!). Like medieval aristocracy, it’s an incestuous bunch of worthless kids, no one does anything and everyone looks the same as they desperately try to fit in while sticking out just enough to justify not hailing a ride from that that rusty hand-me-down volvo in the sky… I stood at one of these parties recently and asked my friend, "who are these people?! What do they do with their lives?" He snapped back quickly, "Quiznos, Dominos, Trader joes…" But at this show, in the court of ironic existence, they are the barristers. They are the twenty something [usually] male equivalents of teenage girls who cut… and the dudes look more like chicks than the fucking chicks. Ewww. Okay, I’m done.
Rockstar of the week award goes to Amy! The TSA pigs pulled her over because she had a lil bit of residue of explosives from the Pirates show at Treasure Island got on her shoes and in her purse and she was able to keep cool as a creamsicle as they searched and questioned her, despite the magic unicorn dust she had pressed into her tits! No shit, that takes skills! xoxo! Moral of the story – Saving your stash is for Chipmunks and Squirrels! and / or Pirates and powders do not mix! Now get your ass back there Walter and get me a drink!