It will be one of the all time most popular pics of the new age. Right here in P-Town folks! Don't just look at it and say "ahh thats nice" . Do the right thing and hug somebody. That's right, the time has come to hug random people and see how quickly the divisions fade away. Yes we all Can get along Ronnie King!
I am so tired of people just saying they were at the protests or they saw that kid. If you really feel it Live The Peace PEOPLE! Hug somebody. Hug somebody you don't want to hug. Hug somebody who wants to be hugged but doesn't know it. Actions speak louder than pics People!
You saw fit to break out my car window to steal a plastic skeleton that I had been used for a fun art project, as well as a nice bag that contained work papers, my prescription sunglasses, and a gift from my wife. All these things, while cool (they were mine, so of course they were), will likely get you very little money for heroin.
The big red tool box you left behind however, contains about two thousand some odd dollars in Magic cards. My insurance will replace the window, I've already ordered a new bag, and I can live without the sunglasses and my skeleton, but I just wanted to tell you that you passed up a goldmine of easy to sell geek goodies that you could have shot up your arm over the next couple of days. Asshole.
Darren Wilson get no pension. This is just unfair.
Newsflash, people: the media chooses these bullshit cases to hype because they want a wedge to increase racial tensions.
In both the Trayvon and Brown cases, the deceased was being violent. The big show of blaming people for responding to this violence just pisses off white people to no end. White people being pissed off and defending someone who killed a black kid pisses off black people to no end.
Does anyone wonder why all the examples of blacks being simply and clearly victimized by cops don't get the outrage treatment? Could it be that the media doesn't give a damn about black people, and is just using these tragedies to drive the races apart?
Of course not! Keep hating your fellow citizens, and ignore the money ruling the system...
Okay, I get it. The backpack is a vital part of today's experience for students, the homeless and ordinary folks of all ages. Even the suits have them and isn't that nicely egalitarian? Except when one hits me in the face. It's a little disconcerting for aisle sitters on the bus (me, for example): reading the latest issue of the Mercury, earbuds in place, blissfully listening to Magnetic Fields or something truly hipsterish and then: WHAM. You clump past and your damn backpack smacks me upside the head. Sometimes it knocks off my glasses, leaving them dangling foolishly from one ear and me furiously blinking away tears of pain. (You don't want to know what I'm thinking right then. You really don't) It's not so much that you smacked me in the face, knocked off my glasses and tore out my earbuds, it's the humiliation of you not acknowledging it. Apology? Get real: nobody apologizes for shit like that anymore. Instead, It would be nice if you could just be more aware of that thing riding on your shoulders and not pretend that it's invisible and without mass. It's not. It's big, it's heavy and it hurts like hell to catch one in the face. You are entitled to carry one, surely, but you're not entitled to commit assault with it, so kindly watch where you swing that damn thing or next time, I'm gonna plant my foot sideways up your entitled ass. Thanks, I'm glad we could have this little chat!
It's because you do yoga, but I can't tell you that. See, if we dated and hit it off, then you'd eventually pressure me into doing yoga, and I'm not doing yoga. So then it would become this big thing; a wedge between us because I don't want to do yoga and you do. I didn't do yoga before we met, so there's precedence there, but you won't understand that, So, I just won't date you. Same thing for those who do outdoor sports. How can I go out with you? If we hit it off, then we'd eventually talk about moving in together and we'd have to build a shelf in the garage for all of your gear. I can't date someone who owns gear… "and here's the shelf where all your gear can go, honey." That cannot and will not happen. So, you're also out of the running. These are just a couple of automatic deal breakers for me…
Guy dressed up like an egg, you made my day! I thought your white knee socks and black patent leather shoes were really boss, too. Overall, though, the big papier mache egg you were wearing was the best part. I never thought I'd be egg ready, but now I am! My shit is set straight! I am egg ready! The world is my oyster! Nothing can stop me now.
You were sitting across from me at a certain coffee shop located somewhere on Hawthorne on Thanksgiving Eve. We were trading glances for almost an hour until you , without warning, suddenly got up and walked away. What a shame. There we were: two uncomfortable conservatively dressd midle aged fish out outta water, out on the town without our overbearing, overweight ball & chains. I sat there, updating my youtube channel, drinking my 3rd cup of espresso. You sat there lapping a latte and reading the wallstreet journal, holding it close as if to conceal yourself playfully. Then as if bored from all the current news events you set the paper down in your broad lap, rested your head back against the sofa, and you closed your furrow-lined eyes and went into a blissful meditative rest. Your strong hard breathing made myself feel more relaxed, as videos of Britney spears continually shuffled on my laptop screen, I kinda spaced out. I was awake yet mentally somewhere far away with you. Were we meant to be togther? This this fate bringing us together here in that cafe filled with woeful looking peopple? It was all good until that fat guy sat between us, disrupting our moment of sublime tranquility. He announced his presence with a symphony gutteral body noises that woke us both up out of our dream. Our vista now obscured by a mac n cheese eating monster, the moment was no more. It was then you stood up, checked your smartphone, and walked out. I felt the brush of wind as you passed me by, heading for the door. All I could feel was a growing rage inside, and I wanted the beat that blob of a human to within an inch of his life....until...oh my, who is that that just walked in? Please sit near me!
(A follow up to http://www.portlandmercury.com/IAnonymousBlog/archives/2014/06/24/too-weird-tuesday-morning-in-hollywood)
We were in need a coffee grinder—on the cheap, of course. This was three months ago and a good excuse to go back to Tuesday Morning. Gone. Signage removed and doors locked. I was saddened, how could I not be? It was a space that mocked reason; Wrong existing as Right. And in this topsy-turvy world its mere existence served as sort of a perverse reassurance that Hope lives, but I'd tested Fate with my wish for a fun center, and even a bottom feeder has a bottom line.
So so long Hollywood Tuesday Morning.
Thanks to my receiving PoMo marketing emails, I've learned your former body has been revived as a contemporary art gallery, performance venue, and studio space (www.s1portland.com)—maybe a meta-minded creative can craft a performance art installation paying homage to the discount retailer cum wormhole that history has already forgotten.
Pick up lines nowadays just make me laugh. Really, who says: "You don't know how many times I had to swipe left to find you!" or something in the lines of: “Are you religious? Because you're the answer to all my prayers.” Ugh. If you want to get more spicy listen to this one: “Is your daddy a Baker? Because you've got a nice set of buns!” I wouldn’t know if to ask back about the baker part. Something about refinement or elegancy would be more in the lines of it. Or the worst uttered “pick up line”: “I wanna be the James Hetfield to your Kirk Hammett song!”
So watching the news right now, what the fuck is Portland doing, 7:21pm? Knocking over police choppers, punching someone in their car. The only thing I can see happening is a disruption of people going home from work. Is that the message? Social Justice means disrupting hard working Americans, and destroying property. A growing and supporting community means to stand on the middle of the highway? What did that car on the highway do to you? What if they believe the same thing you do? Whatever happened in Ferguson has nothing to do with the people of Portland protesting right now. All I see are punks. Jobless punks with nothing better to do. What are you angry about now? You are not spreading any message except how stupid your tactics are. Wasting people's time and money. Because you have nothing going on in your life, don't fuck with other innocent people. This does remind me of being in the grocery store earlier with the thanksgiving crowd. Do it Portland! I hope someone doesn't get shot. But would they have deserved it? Would the shooter be wrong? "only so long you can tease a lion before she latches on." "sometimes to make something turn back right, you have to do something just as wrong."
Remember when those WHITE guys pointed guns at the BLM officers? Those WHITE guys pointed guns at Federal officers and everyone was cool about it. We debated that shit forever; a nice little discussion. No one really cared that these WHITE militia dudes threatened to KILL Federal officers, or use women as their shield. Yup, we all just sat around and debated. Good ol' boy Cliven Bundy don't believe in no government and he ain't gotta pay no fees. My question is: Where was the outrage when these armed WHITE men pointed guns at Federal officers? (Never mind all these WHITE militia idiots who walk around strapped with military assault rifles on their way to have fucking lunch at Applebee's) Why weren't they called "thugs," or "criminals" or "animals"? I mean, really… why didn't the media call these criminals out? Oh, was it maybe because they're WHITE? Do you think they would have gotten off so easily if they were black? Do you think the media would have had a "rational discussion" on the matter? Hell no and you know it. Rioting is WRONG, looting is WRONG, but you know what? SO IS POINTING GUNS AT A FEDERAL OFFICERS. Now, why is one OK and the other not? What's the difference here?
I just took some vodka. My friends have been trying to get me to take it for years now, but I've held strong. Last night, my girlfriend broke up with me, so I decided to try it, devil be damned. I paced back in forth in front of the liquor store for what seemed like forever before I went in. My friends told me not to do it alone, but I want to be alone and I want to be out of my mind. I bought it, but couldn't muster the courage last night to take it, so it sat on my counter, taunting me, calling my name… "Jacob… Jacob… come to me.. " Now, after an entire day of thinking it over, I've decided to do it. I took two shots about 10 minutes ago and now I'm waiting for the effect. I hope I don't freak out. I just want to forget about life for awhile, forget about this broken heart. I don't want to jump off a rooftop, or run down the street naked though, and that possibility scares me the most. I had "anticipation poops" all day, thinking of this moment. My stomach still has butterflies as I wait for the vodka to kick in. I'm scared, yet excited. Maybe two shots wasn't enough? Perhaps one more is in order… shit's gonna get cray-cray tonight, I just know it. Wish me luck. I love you, Mom…
hi. Got another one for everybody-
If you are right eye dominant and getting worse because you stare at your phone or your computers all the time try this-
For a few hours a day apply a small piece of scotch tape to your right eyelid. Works as kind of a patch so you can strengthen your left eye!
Happy holidays friends!
I met you in a bar over a year ago. It was a great night. A poem came out of it. You spontaneously came on stage and sang a song. Your dancing was pretty sexy. We then went to another bar, and danced the night away to jukebox songs. We really danced like no one was watching. I commented on your booty as you previously commented on someone else's booty, you said thanks. I didn't let on that I yearned to make my feelings known to you, or would've asked to exchange numbers. But my friend was with us. All he did was talk about himself, his same boring stories, that are probably word for word, line for line. He monopolized the conversation, and I don't like talking about myself so gloriously as he did or interrupting or talking over my friend. I guess this was a cock block as they say. Nonetheless, we left, my friend drove, you came along. My friend insisted on taking me home first, then you after, although geographically, that made no sense, and I agreed, and told him to just let you out. You got mildly agitated at him. He insisted and insisted, and in his tone, a fatherly one, kept insisting on taking me home first. I heard it, and it turned me off. We were stuck at a light, and you got it. I said bye or something. that was that, as is said. Fuck you to my friend. I still remember that night, and think about the what if, knowing the chances of crossing paths are very, very, very slim. Meanwhile your face is fading away, but your memory is forever.
I said I hate that song, after playing it on the jukebox. I often hate my song choices because I stay within a comfort zone with this, although I have over 20,000 songs on my ipod. I just don't remember, and can't think in the moment. It was a good song. I know only good songs. I don't remember what it was, and I don't remember what you commented back to me. I was pretty lit up by that point. Fading in and out of blackness. At some point, your boy friends left, and we were at the bar together. You sat specifically next to me. I was pretty loaded again. I remember snap shots. If I was more sober, I would've talked more, and would've liked to get to know you, as they say. But I don't know how one gets to know another one. I have no game. Girls intimidate me, especially if I like them. Besides already being socially inept all on my own. So instead, we talked a little, I don't remember details. We sang songs, I was bopping and making dance moves on my bar stool. I felt a connection, I know it. It couldn't have just been the alcohol. I'm also pretty intuitive, so I fucking know you were flirting with me. And I know there was tension, and chemistry. I remember looking at your face at one point deeply and intensely, and remember liking looking at your face. We hugged as you left, and I remember feeling like, make it a sexy hug, and not a friendly pat on the back kind of hug. But I have a feeling I'll never see you again either. and I could be wrong too.
The rioting and looting surly gets your point across. It makes sense. it gives faith back to humanity that we can all believe in a better world. Way to spread a positive message people.
Like the road rager I saw yelling, screaming and swearing out his window at another car for cutting him off. You got laughed at by many people who saw you.
Like the adrenaline filled bike donkey that is satirized and parodied on Portlandia. Now that is hilarious.
And the man that got taken down by the police and dragged through the mud and leaves, last year, or a few years ago. What was never focused on, and a few minutes before he was taken down, there was video footage of this man yelling, screaming and swearing. I saw his eyes filled with hate and rage. It is laughable and hilarious, but seriously it is scary how angry people get.
And the stories are never accurate. They are misrepresented and miscommunicated, no one will ever know the truth, not even God. There are lies and mysteries, and the mysteries are what will forever leave a void, and why the unknown is always filled with worry. And the unknown leads to fear. Fear leads to anger.
There is never a reason anyone should die. Never! It's really a tough call. I don't know what I'd do if I was a cop or President. And as a civilian, it wouldn't seem right to break into Walmart and light shit on fire, unless they killed my mom. So I guess, I don't know what the fuck I'd do.
Dear gamblin' crackhead woman,
you shameful opportunist. You saw my boots sitting in the dressing room of the strip club I was working at and decided to steal them. I did not notice they were gone until the end of the evening, when I was preparing to leave. You left me boot-less on a cold, rainy night. As I walked in stocking clad feet through the muck and the oily water, I thought of my mother, who bought me those boots years ago, even though she could not afford them, and how much I hope you suffer, you who are not even worthy to drink piss from the very boot you pinched from me.
You better believe the 1st of December I’m gonna be the first to put up lights and everything up. All my boxes are out of the greasy basement ready to be opened. Eggnog bottles in every corner of the house accompanied by its corresponded chocolates. Otis Redding Christmas Carol vinyl up in display. I’m even going to wear that ugly sweater but hacked into space invaders theme all fucking Xmas long. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer sang by The Ramones blasting at 1:00 am on the first of December.
That's not when you flip on your left turn signal. That's when you fucking GO and then double back and correct it if you blew your turn. Asswipe. .
At the very least, look behind yourself and see if it's worth it. We see you! We all want to kill you. All 46 of us. Waiting because you! Some self entitled shitbag "just remembered" they had to left (probably some gluten free-shit-shopping stop off).
Just go! Figure out your pickle a few blocks up but, don't make all of us wait.
If you even just get a hunch you might want turn, at least HUG the median and USE your TURN SIGNAL so all us can scootchy around you and your pathetic, impulsive fucked up manners and being.
Or pass out tacos as we we wait. Fuck it and fuck you! Jerk(s)
Like most, if not all, commenters here, I have no life. But, I can readily admit it. I check the Mercury's site way too much throughout the day, on my personal computer, work computer and phone. I read the comments mainly in this IA section because it's almost like hanging out in a group home for the mentally disturbed. I masturbated literally 5 minutes ago and after cleaning up, the first thing I did was to check the comments here. I don't know what's worse, commenting so much on people's rants like you do, or reading those comments like a drug addicted prostitute. I can't get enough of the bickering, the judging, the egos and the ignorance. I'm a comment whore is what I'm saying, but you all are the Johns, so what's better and who exactly is in charge? I also wonder if most of you are still in denial about your lives? I've actually timed the regular's comments after a rant has been posted and really, some of you are just like me, you have to be. No one comments that much or that often, so what does this mean? If means you have no life, or the life you have is a very sad one just like mine. But, because I can admit it, I'm free, see? Are you? I'll see you around... I'll be the guy in the darkened corner watching you all..
Mr. Noro Virus just ran through my house. I am not certain how he got in. I surmise he snuck in hiding inside my daughter's backpack, but I may never really know. This dirty, dirty man forced me to make some pretty urgent decisions that I hope you never have to make. One should never be in this situation, when your body needs to do two necessary actions at the same time, what do you choose? The outcome of either decision is catastrophic. Kind of like playing Russian roulette with all the chambers full of bullets, it's never good. Presently, I am just a shelf a person. Mr. Noro Virus had his way with me. I deeply regret this relationship. Unfortunately, saying NO was not an option, and I feel a bit used and abused from the inside out. Our relationship was pretty abusive looking back. He told me what to do and when, over and over. Typically, I like being ordered around, but what he wanted me to do was just disgusting. He had this "thing" with the bathroom, and held me in there for hours. One might accuse Mr. Noro Virus of having a toilet fetish. His stamina was something I have never experienced, what we did in there was so rigorous it made me feel weak and several pounds lighter. I might never be the same. As I venture back into the bathroom to survey the aftermath, I am not sure what to do next. I can't decide if I should go out and by a hazmat suitworthy of fending off Ebola, buy more bleach, or just torch my house and rebuild?
Let us have our mourning. We get it, you don't care that you're ruining our city. You don't care that you're pushing out poor people and those who were born here. You don't care that you're raising the cost of rent/living because you can afford it. You don't care because you don't care. But, let us care, will you? Sure, we can't stop the virus that is you, but can we not, at least, vent a little about the loss of our city? Can we not remember what Portland was and despise what it's become? You all left your own states, cities and towns for a reason, right? You left because you didn't like what your home had become, or always was and now you're destroying our town, making us want to leave… some by force and others by choice. The darkness you bring is only confirmed by your comments of not caring, of statements like "Get over it, and you're welcome for your property value increasing" and "What am I supposed to do about it?" We didn't ask you to come, you came because you're sheep, you're followers… we totally get that part. At least let us complain, let us get angry and let us lament, for it doesn't really matter anyway… you've already won.
Whenever I get gas, I feel for the attendants who work at the station. There they are, likely making mere minimum wage, braving the elements, inhaling toxic fumes and dealing with customers. I never tip them, because I guess we're not supposed to, or, at least, there isn't a "movement" to make it the societal norm. Tell me, how is a barista's job any harder than a gas station attendant's? Why are we pressured to tip for coffee, when we don't for gas? I just don't get it. And yeah, this tirade is an old and tired one, I just wish these militant pro-tipping people would just acknowledge the fact that it's unfair. Just once, I'd like them to say, "You know what? A gas station attendant, a cashier at McDonald's, the person loading your wood at Home Depot… they all have a hard job than a barista. But, you don't need to tip anyone but the barista and it's really unfair… and, I'm an asshole."
I walk in my painting photograph studio. The first time in 3 months. All the paints within their little buckets are dry. I walk out. I have enough paintings and photographs to last me 20 exhibits. “Yeah, my friend did that one, yeah I did that one” Abstract photos, travel photos, indoor surrounding architectural angle photographs, bad party lighting cheap disposable camera pics. Experimental photographs in there too. A few really well done b/w bust photographs. Snap fast casual hidden camera or in your face trigger fast all night flash digital photos. 90’s colour slide transfers. I cringe at the thought of going to a gallery and exhibit these up there. The artists with misconception theories. The out of this world art collectives with their borrowed trends with whom no one can identify, near or far. The others who alienate them and themselves in the process as some kind of artistic road perception aloof unconcerned unpreoccupied distracted and distant, or just boldly disruptive and destructive of their behaviour process. I have a bunch of tapes too. Close to 50. Sitting there. We shall go on playing or find a new wont. To do. Not thinking about anything until something concrete shows up. I ask somebody to squeeze my arm firmly, still. I get up and deck in The Smiths What She Said? And wait till it rewinds.
After reading the comments to my post regarding rape, I realize that I was correct in that we're not ready to have this particular discussion. People responded with name-calling, hate and anger... kind of like a Republicans do. That said, maybe I can put this in simpler terms: Bill Cosby allegedly drugged and raped 7 women. Let me first be clear: That is WRONG. Ok, so, how was this man able to rape 7 woman? Well, because none of the victims would or COULD come forward. There are countless reasons why they didn't come forward and in the mean time, Bill Cosby was allowed to roam free and rape other women (allegedly). Yes or no: If victim number 3 were to have come forward, would that not have saved 4 other women from being raped? YES OR NO? Instead of also trying to REDUCE the number of victims by fixing the system, we're going to solely attempt to change an entire "rape culture," right? We're just going to allow a man to rape as many women as he can until ONE of them decides to come forward... be it victim number 10 or 15 or 20... we're just going to sit around with the hippy-dippy notion that it's easier to change an entire society, rather than ALSO give the victims a system so that they can report these animals without fear of retribution? We're all cool with that, right? Let that hate, name-calling, changing of subjects and anger begin:
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