In a world where everything sucks and is bad, I decided to go review some restaurants, because why not, we’re all going to die anyway, right?
Putting on my stomping boots I stomped downtown and found myself in the hottest food district around, with eateries either side of the road stretching as far as the eye can see, which isn’t far – about four places – since I lost my contact lenses in the divorce. That’s just petty, Carol. Anyway, I went to each of them sequentially, purging in intermission to ensure my stomach was as ready to receive my next meal as it was for the last.
The International Co-operative Corporation for Corporate Cash Enbiggenment (ICCCCE) today announced a new initiative described as a “beautification and cultural enhancement project, which would have poor people phased out of existence by 2025.
In a press conference earlier today, ICCCCE Chairman Rich Dubloon said that he’d first noticed the issue when dropping his children off to play with some economically disadvantaged friends they had met during a cultural exchange at their prestigious private school.
“I bought the school immediately, don’t you know. Put a stop to that rot!” said Dubloon. “Now you might call me a right old fashioned sort but I didn’t realise these sorts of scallywags exist, you see! I’d seen them in pictures and at the talkies but damned if I didn’t think they weren’t make-pretend! A contrivance, you see!”
In today’s vernacular, sometimes Feminism can be a dirty word. To others, it’s a thing of hope — the ideology and expectations of a future generation on its shoulders. But even amongst those followers there are divisions — schisms in a movement so massive it can’t help but crack under the heavy weight of its inertia. But for the survival of this phenomenon to be ensured, one thing must stay true: Feminism must be intersectional. Also, I’d really like it if they brought back those 3D Doritos.
alt titles: “Blum, Blum, Blum, Blum, I Want You In My Room”, “Max Blum: Feels Like Homo”
Today is Adam Pally’s Birthday! Happy Birthday Adam. To celebrate we dedicate today’s article to the one and only Max Blum from Happy Endings. We are going to celebrate by also celebrating me because that is how things are done when they are done in the spirit of Max.
From time to time, Saxon is visited by one of the muses — the one that inspires poetry. The poetry that emerges is unpredictable in topic and form. It cannot be channeled; it can only be held onto for dear life until its completion… and then it is published here on whatever Thursday is nearest and empty on our schedule. So pull up a seat and click your fingers in appreciation of this gift from above.
<3 Sneer Campaign
Ken, one of four quintuplets, was born March 19, 1994 in the neighbourhood of South Boston. He was raised in a small wood-panel home with three sisters. His father, Frank Bonesworth, affectionately known to friends as “Bones” was a hunter with no formal education. His mother Anna, was a stay-at-home carer to her children. Both parents came from 6th-generation South Boston families. He attended the prestigious Academie de Collier, working as a hunter alongside his father during vacation. After graduating in 2000, Ken became an apprentice hunter.
Google.com. Bing.com. Tumblr.com. With names as stupid as these, we must have run out of truly worthy website names a long time ago, right? Right? NUH-to-the-motherfucking-UH. Our crack Sneer Investigationist Team went under deep internet cover to discover the shocking truth about the websites that everyone assumes are taken: that the only barrier to website success is our failure to dream hard enough and reach for the internet stars.
My Amandoll is made
of bleeps and bloops
Of internet sounds
and video loops
My Amandoll is dust
of an internet kind
of internet dust
that lives in my mind
My Amandoll is real
I am quite sure
But always behind
An internet door
My Amandoll is Queen
Queen of the snaps
She passed the young bee
Left him in her tracks
My Amandoll is wonder
My Amandoll is blissful
My Amandoll is stuck
Across the sea
Away from me
illustrations by and added by dollissa without permission
Everybody loves France. So – oh, no? That’s not a thing? Well they should. Their tendency to surrender is exaggerated, their cheese, whilst smelling like the olfactory equivalent of the Westboro Baptists Church, is known to be delicious for some reason, and they discovered radium, without which I wouldn’t be able to find my glow in the dark mouth guard when the combination of my saliva and grinding teeth inevitably shoots it across my bed like so many bars of prison soap. I’m sorry, I’m not doing a very good job of celebrating France. I must, as I often do, turn to poetry to communicate my deeply felt, depthy feelings about France to you all.