From the cookie jar

Here's an old classic of C'n'L.

Haha, you're old as hell.

Munky's "things that should go away immediately":

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1. girls who try soooo hard to be "one of the guys." no. you're not. you have a vagina. i'm sorry. and those guys you are so proud of hanging out with, the ones you're referring to the countless times you proudly declare "i don't have girl friends. i hang out with all guys. they're just easier"---those guys; they don't think you're cool or funny or different from other girls. they really dont care. you're just a backup f*** in case there's no one else available.

2. people on the bus/train who hold loud conversations just so everyone can hear how witty and clever they are. seriously. no one thinks your constant use of phrases like "Epic Fail" and "FML" are clever. they just want to throw you into oncoming traffic.

3. people who sigh dramatically loud in public to garner sympathy or attention. nobody cares. go away.

4. The "Twilight" kids.

5. that really depressing guy on BBC news this morning. when i first wake up in the morning i dont wanna hear things like "Will Obama's string of victories continue, or will the sheer weight of the American political system send him crashing back down to earth?" actually....that was pretty funny. he can stay.

6. guys who seem to be incapable of pulling off a hoody over their heads without having their shirt underneath lift up to the point where we can all see your nipples. STOP THAT! its not sexy. you just end up looking like an inept chimp, all tangled in masses of fabric with no way out.

7. girls who are pms-ing and decide to write angry blogs to exercise themselves of all the malicious energy. *cough cough*

8. the use of *cough cough*

9. girls who buy clothes that are outrageously smaller than what their actual size is, and then have to constantly adjust themselves; pulling and tucking things in and stretching the fabric. why are you torturing that poor shirt? its not its fault you're a trollop. BUY YOUR OWN SIZE and leave the smalls and mediums for us girls that are actually small and medium! im tired of swimming in your rejected larges and XXL's.

10. the term "sexting." people over 40 think they're so clever when they throw that word around. you can see it in their eyes. that old person pride. F*** you Doctor Phil.

11. That formspring thing on Facebook. as if facebook and twitter and blogs werent enough for our attention starved generation. its not enough that random people can follow your life through your incessant posting of your every jamba juice run and bowel movement? you need to add to that an open forum? we get it. you exist, now shut up already.

more to come. maybe

The Bomber's Dozen July 26th-31st: The Fiery Seven

The Tasty 6.

Now with number 13!

7. Avril Lavigne dates and hangs out with the Hills.

Exhaling the last breath of her reputation.

The very last puff.

This is like if Pete Doughtery hung out and dated Kate Moss, except that would never happen.

8. Blonde chick on "Contra" album is 2 million bucks worth of mad.

Which I don't understand. You become the face of a band who's one of the most beloved acts of our generation. And by association, you become a near mythical indie-rock icon.

And you sue?

You go from preppy white bitch #643 to psuedo-rockstar and your response is "I DO NOT LIKE"?!

Because seriously, your name is Kristen Kennis.

Her name is Kristen Kennis.

You were supposed to die in that Ralph Lauren polo, accompanied by a white frilly skirt and K-Swiss sneakers, all sponsored by your father's trust fund, based in South Hampton, NY. Be happy you've been de-stereotyped, stupid.

Don'tsaycuntdon'tsaycuntdon'tsaycuntdon'tsaycuntdon'tsaycunt

9. NME says Tom Jones wants to hook up with Eminem.

Tee-hee.

10. Liam Gallagher is still a douchebag.

Not that I needed this article to prove that.

This'll do.

I'm not sure at what point he felt compelled to take a douche mushroom, make a few douche bleeps, and super douche over koopas.

Annnd our first Mario reference.

Listen to him; he's saying shit like "[His new band] Beady Eye will be bigger than Oasis", and:

"We have this tune and it was a bit Rolling Stonesy, and I didn't like it," he said of the recording sessions for the group's debut album, which is due out next year. "It was slow and boring. So we just got on a piano and fuck it up, Jerry Lee style, and stuck a John Lennon vocal on the top. It's good."

I can feel the vomit tapping my throat.

11. Zac Efron and Corbin Bleu in Whorehouse Musical. And Vanessa Hudgens is cool with it.

But let's ignore all this scrumptious irony.

I CAN'T!

And focus on Zac's quote in the second article:

''I'm not really the type of guy that does that kind of thing often. I've heard a lot about these places, mostly from rap music. It was supposed to be pretty reputable. I envisioned myself sitting on a nice couch, shades on, with T-Pain and Usher, making it rain money - and it just wasn't like that."

What.

Let it sink in. Try not to write a blog about it.

12. A little pigeon shit goes a long way.

This is a contentious issue.

Need proof? How about googling "Pigeon shit" links to four first page articles on the KoL story, and even includes press photos of the band in the images section.

In other words, they've become synonymous. Kings of Leon and "Pigeon shit" are one in the same. And so they should be.

If people have paid in advance, they clearly appreciate your band and anticipate your performance. To walk out on them because little splotches of bird shit dabbles your recently moussed hair is to walk out on those who so dearly wanted to embrace your creativity.

Way to go, Kings of Leon. You're officially....

...

On my shitlist.

Thursday etc. etc.

Feel free to unfollow this blog.

13. RACE WAR...well almost.

The classy SB1070 (Which sounds like a Megaman prototype) law went into effect this past Thursday. I was eagerly awaiting social catastrophe when suddenly, a judge cockblocked the law's racially divisive intercourse:

"We believe the court ruled correctly when it prevented key provisions of SB1070 from taking effect. While we understand the frustration of Arizonans with the broken immigration system, a patchwork of state and local policies would seriously disrupt federal immigration enforcement and would ultimately be counterproductive."

The c-blocked sections of the law that guaranteed molotov cocktails and window smashings were the following:

• Immigrants must carry their papers at all times or risk detainment
• Illegal immigrants cannot solicit employment in public places
• My favorite, officers can, without warrant, arrest suspected illegal immigrants for crimes that may lead to deportation

Mmm, vagueness in law. Nothing better than the word "suspected", which is to literally make an intuitive judgment, being used to determine how an officer arrests someone.

Because let's be honest, Arizona is siphoning Mexicans like a kid sucking down a tube of mini M&Ms. The suspected are not going to be Americans. They're not going to be Asian-Americans. They're not going to be African-Americans. They're going to be Mr. Rodrigo mowing your lawn. Sweet Juan Pablo who does your landscaping. They're going to be Hispanic people.

Thus, inciting general racial profiling. This could've only meant social suicide for the relationship between whites and hispanics, which is already degrading as it is.

But it was blocked.

And to be honest, I wish it wasn't. The US needs direct conflict again. We need to settle our differences openly, and quite possibly, violently, before anything gets better again. all this passive discussion on cable TV, all this vague political debate, which is solely jargon to get people voted, progresses about as quickly as a glacier. I honestly think we need something to impassion this nation again, and SB1070 was about the closest thing to doing so.

And while SB1070 was a steaming pot of passive racism, at the very least, it gave us (As in, Hispanic people) something to fight for, other than that ridiculous "American Dream" notion. Whatever that means.

Now we'll just strap on those yellow latex gloves again, as the smell of Windex and Clorox fumigates our passive noses. I wonder what's on Univision tonight?

The Bomber's Dozen July 26th-31st: The Tasty Six.

The Bomber's Dozen is a weekend two-part...thing that features 12 pieces of hilariously useless news and one serious piece of incendiary commentary which will likely get me sued.

As if our rampant use of Hitler photos shouldn't.

Bon appetit.

1. Justin Bieber eats candy before going on stage.

Subsequently, no one cares.

What is more interesting here is Justin Bieber's ridiculous road crew:

"Amazingly Justin, his road crew, musicians, dancers and anyone else connected to the tour get through 10,000 French fries each day and 75 Starbucks drinks.

And a mammoth amount of equipment and instruments are used to stage each show, including 30 miles of electrical cable, 20 rolls of electrical tape ' the equivalent of 3,330ft ' 20 guitars, 14 drum sticks and 10 disco balls for the set.

It takes 11 buses to transport all the personnel and over 500 cases are used to store the tour gear."

Like a CD player isn't enough.

2. U2's producer 'lucky' to survive bike crash.

I can feel my ears sighing.

I have an antagonized dislike for U2. I never thought they were as prolific as their success seemed, and the fact that they're so venerated by the musical world plays cheerleader to my angst.

Gimme a U! Gimme a 2! What does that spell? Baaarreeellly mediocre!

3. Kanye West is popular.

Dear "Music News",

No this isn't.

4. MATT BELLAMY AND KATE HUDSON ARE HOUSE HUNTING?!!

I was not informed of this relationship! I completely disapprove! How was I not told of this???

Because you're not gay...Right?

Ugh, and he met Goldie Hawn (Kate's mother)!

'It's a little bit too soon to talk about weddings and stuff. Ask me in a few months though. I'll let you know how it goes with Goldie - and then who knows?'

These two worlds should have never collided.

5. M.I.A. vivisects Gaga like an assassin.

"[Winfrey] made this huge speech at the ball praising Lady GaGa about how she is helping Americans to be the best of themselves," MIA explained. "There's millions of other Americans who represent that for me. Is [it] about numbers? About how much you're selling? Is it truly about the journey? Because [Lady GaGa's] journey isn't that difficult: to go from the fucking Upper East Side to a fucking performing arts school and onto a stage at the museum of fucking wherever.

That journey's about four miles."

Bravo.

6. Katy Perry with moldbusting commentary

"My parents were really strict at first, because they didn't want me to turn out like a prostitute."

Not that I would've guessed.

Cookies 'N' Landmines Redux

Me and ConstantlyChangesHerName make an exerted effort to create undeniably adorable craters in your brain, and now, our site does as well.


By adding more cookie jokes.

Welcome to the new Cookies 'N' Landmines. Spread the word. Be the cream 'n' the gunpowder.

The Other Side: Cookies and Landmines/Don't Be A Douche

There are two modes of thought in my head. My, more or less, "general" side, where I'm a social butterfly and I'm more than eager to tell the joke and play party to the audience's whimsy. And a philosophical side, who quietly loses himself in thought and is constantly snapped back to attention at the moment a friend recognizes my daze.

Don't Be a Douche is the ever-introspective latter.

But Cookies and Landmines is the whimsical former.

And/or whoever this kid is. He's fantastic.

To separate the two modes into two blogs allows me to play a foil to the heavy-handed style of Don't Be a Douche, a style of thought that I practice way too often on my own for me to stay entertained by it.

But for every deep thought, there is a ridiculous counterpart waiting to break the ice. So, this blog expresses various points of views and stupid jokes that are too delightful to keep on my own. Like girl scout cookies. Minus the jailbait.


Sexy.

It's too fun a dance for me; where submerging in deep thought feels like tightrope walking with weights, my mind releases itself and skips freely along fresh meadows on CnL.

You homo.

In other words, I'd end up a bitter old man at 19; this is my way of avoiding that.

Don't Be a Douche is the puppeteer; constantly tugging in an effort to decipher the world around me, and guides me towards wit and cynicism.

But Cookies and Landmines is the marionette; the thing that I ultimately connect to emotionally, and conveys the impression that I'd want people to have of me.

Because this just isn't as fun as I expected.

I CAN'T WRITE.

HFUDSHFLIDA,,BFD....LS'ABFDASBF;LDASBLFSDBAF!!!

Haha, get it? Because, because I can't?

Steve Wonder is not amused.

I'm about as sharp as a plastic bag of vomit. And I'm not sure how or when the stagnation began. It's been demoralizing, and has been making me avoid looking at this blog out of intellectual shame. Hence the feeling of cold isolation every time you visit this site.

It isn't the end, I'm sure, and, I know, this isn't the first time. It's just this dry spell's a bit alarming; all my intellectuality and academic drive, the thing I've tried for so long to hone, has scattered into a million little people and panicked in apocalyptic fashion, telling itself "OH GOD WE'RE DYING" like I were Charly in the last few pages of Flowers for Algernon.

Learning'; my way through!,. being funny again:'!&;

Truth is, I'm quietly losing my thirst for psychology too. Not for people, but for their inner workings. It's a little startling.

In the meantime, I'll try to recapture that beautiful douchebag that once posted on this, and the take the advice of comments from the previous "OH MY GOD I'M DYING" blog. It's difficult to carry a blogspot all by yourself consistently, but I will make the effort.

Because you know I'm the only writer here and there totally isn't someone else who hasn't written in month.

ONTO WILLIAMSBURG! Pt. 3

ONTO WILLIAMSBURG! Pt. 1

ONTO WILLIAMSBURG! Pt. 2

Random old guy alert! There's one at every concert-festival, isn't there?



Looks like we missed a spy.



Me and my friend, fitting in like a lock of hair on rice.



No hipster place is complete without these little ma 'n' pa stores that sell tons of media. Cassettes, records, videos, DVDs, books, CDs, everything! All in affably ghetto boxes and shelves. As seen here, the Pool Party kids spilled in after it was over.


Entering an apparently flooded and useless train station.



Being attentionwhores on the train back. Attention whoring on an NYC subway is equivalent to masturbating in front of a girl to get her into you.


Taking the escalator down to obscurity again.

This particular set of escalators interest me. Mind you, there's nothing special about these escalators. Just a set of about seven or so of them that take about 30 seconds to complete their descent. These are the escalators everyone must take to leave the city by the popular PATH train.

Every day, thousands, possibly millions, make their exodus. 30 uninterrupted seconds of reminiscence; the understanding that at the bottom of these escalators, your day will have turned from existence and into nostalgia. I have to wonder; what were the memories like for the riders going down this 30-second realization of the end? What were the mortal days that became eternal here?

My contribution to this ethereal bank of nostalgia involved the hipster hippies of Williamsburg. The escalators elicited thoughts of them dancing, them looking like jackasses, and them reveling in all of it. And the fact that they simultaneously shattered and solidified my feelings about them.

I didn't like them; all the shallow frills of being one of those kids, trying so hard to fit in, and by association, so hard to become forgettable.

And yet, I embraced them. To take yourself and mold it to the what you want it to be, with nothing holding you back, is admirable. Even if you get lost in a sea of douchebags wearing neon sunglasses, at least you were who you wanted to be. And no one was getting in your way about it.

Scene kids play a rare paradox for me. It's always one or the other for me. But they're the first. It's been nearly one whole week since Williamsburg, and still, they have me puzzled. But I enjoyed that. And I enjoyed those stupid kids. They'll be gripping my attention for a while to come.

So here's to you, hippie girl. You look like an idiot. But you loved it all the same. And, I guess, that's all that matters in the end.



That and Speed Stick.