I don’t think he meant to do that. The dude was out flying a kite, minding his own business, and then he got swept off his feet by a light breeze. It happens to the best of us, but he couldn’t have been in a more unfortunate location. Other than hanging over a vat of rotating, acid-covered knives , there’s not too many ways it could get worse.
I wasn’t too worried though — he was wearing his helmet, and that makes all the difference.
No one likes littering — no one. Next to infanticide and voting for the Green Party, littering is one of the worst things a person can do. I may or may not be exaggerating for effect, but you get the point. I have noticed that littering bothers regular people much more than it bothers anyone else, which is strange because they’re not directly affected. The demographics who are affected don’t really seem to give a crap.
Squirrels and other small animals love littering because it gives them a free, half-eaten meal. Hobos like it because they can pick up the recyclables for some of that sweet, sweet bottle return cash. Teenagers like it because they can beat up the hobos and take all their bottle return cash. And the fattened squirrels are run over by motorists, completing the cycle. It’s a beautiful life we lead thanks to littering. We have an entire ecosystem that’s been built up around chucking crap out of your car window, and life has never been better.
Except for all of those stupid porpoises who get their noses caught in those plastic rings that come with a six-pack. From all appearances their lives seem to suck, but they totally deserve it. That’s what they get for being smug little sea-pricks all the time. Who’s swimming around without a care in the world now? Pro tip: it’s not you.
(Many thanks to the incorrigible Charles Schneider for sending this our way)
No matter how good a music career you have, there are very few situations where it will end well. Either they find your lifeless, heroin-filled corpse in a Motel 5.9, or you live long enough to be parodied by Weird Al. Neither situation sounds very appealing.
You can always retire early or do something else, but no one has that kind of sense. If you wind up playing the accordion for tips in a park in Peterhof you should consider yourself lucky, because the alternatives are death or being in the Rolling Stones.
Even when the rest of the band has gone on to better things, you’ll be left with memories of all the good times you had. Back when the only good parties were bloc parties.
(Many thanks to Charles Schneider for sending this one along)
Let me hear your balalaikas ringing out.
You know, for only having three strings he’s really making a lot of noise. Whether that’s a good thing or not is all a matter of opinion. He needs to work on giving his music any sort of structure or direction or tonality, but I’ll be darned if he isn’t trying. Some would even say he’s — shredding. I don’t particularly like that word: shredding. It evokes images of shirtless men pretending they know how to play the guitar because they can play one scale really fast. But I’ll be darned if he isn’t shredding all over that ridiculous excuse for an instrument. He may only have three stings and a finite amount of notes, but one way or another he’s going to play them all.