Imbeciles, you return to this blog, day after day, inexplicably eager to read its half-assed content—but somehow, you have yet to learn that excrement is a thing to be avoided. One day you too shall be dealt with.
• It was a banner week for the obnoxious Sarah Mirk, who supplemented her usual whining—this time, it was about how inconvenient it is that her Safeway's being remodeled, WAAAAAAHHHH—with a video of local children "rapping." This video is an excellent advertisement for birth control.
• Proving that she has entirely too much time on her hands—and thus might be a prime candidate for downsizing—Alison Hallett loudly bragged to no one in particular that she had made some disgusting-sounding cookies.
• Wm. Steven Humphrey was on vacation, no doubt frolicking about Portland in one of his many mesh t-shirts. PARENTS, DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR CHILDREN ARE?
• In yet another shameless attempt to exploit the Mercury's long-suffering readers, Marjorie Skinner announced an upcoming Mercury yard sale. Readers, consider the offal the Mercury jackasses foist upon you for free; shudder as you imagine what they might try to sell you.
• Just what Portland needs: Another fucking McMenamins, and more fucking "indie rock." Ned Lannamann is a cretin, and thus undeserving of even the smallest dollop of respect, but I will grudgingly admit that I'm impressed he wrote the following phrase without even a hint of sarcasm: "Corin Tucker, David Bazan, and the Built to Spill's Doug Martsch? Sign us up."
• As per usual, neither Ezra "Ace" Caraeff nor Courtney Ferguson did a single thing worth mentioning.
• As lazily inept as ever, Erik Henriksen cut-and-pasted a press release, a previously written film review, and an embedded YouTube to report the urgent news that Portland's village idiot, Daniel "The Fat One" Baldwin, has started referring to himself as "Double D."
• Laura Hudson, whoever the fuck that is, drunkenly interviewed a drunk KJ, then mistakenly thought anyone would give two shit squirts about the resultant gibberish. If this post were a Swiftian satire of Portland hipsters, it could be excused. It is not.
I will return next week, and not one moment before. I urge you to do the same.