Six crosses, winter maintenance.

Announcer #1: his grandfather died during the opening ceremonies so he’s skiing with a heavy heart. Announcer #2: And a heavy edge! Whoa! Wow!

Still life.

Just want to read interviews with American actors who worked in Italian cinema during the 60s and 70s.

The Olympic drones are creepy and dystopian.

Just realized the last time I was out in public and screaming “you fools!” in my head it was actually at the top of my lungs.

Please join our office softball team, AI Age-Smoothed Celebrities.

Vampire teeth are out early.

You know, all your online gambling ads do is make me wonder if everyone is giving 100%.

During the 70s you heard a lot of drunk announcers. Not so much now, but I think it’s making a comeback.

Albums/songs the got played to death on the radio during my teens (no comment on quality, only frequency): Frampton Comes Alive Boston Band on the Run/Live & Let Die (tie) Angie

More like E. fucking T.

Why aren’t they using the Nino Rota music? Licensing?

Our dog is cutting farts like something out of Lovecraft.

Going to see a whole lot of movie reviewers arrested in the next few days, I reckon.

Goodbye, legend.

My heart is broken.

Horse country weighs in.

Two good people dying broke the right.

Timeline cleanse. Also, Bongo says fuck ICE, fuck the border patrol, and be good to your community.

I shit my pants at See’s Candies. That’s it, that’s the poem.

Rise up now, my fellow apes.

Them regular trademark.

This place kicks ass.

Coyote at the crossroads.

abolish James Carville.

Ok, I did it. I got high on Tide PODS.

Gonna send this to the New Yorker.

If, like me, you’re desperately trying to maintain, you could do worse than checking out this website. Rebroadcasts of old radio on a number of themes, including crime, comedy, horror, and even old World Series games. It’s not perfect, but there’s just something very nice about it.

Really feeling the guy in the cartoon wearing a sandwich board reading The End is Near.

I just rewatched THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK and C-3PO is the AI thing nobody wants and Leia literally shuts him off.

This documentary of Warhol-adjacent cabaret singer/actress Tally Brown, who I'd never heard of before, is one of the better things I've seen recently. Fantastic footage of gritty 70s New York. And what an incredible presence. Highly recommended, if this is your sort of thing.

Here’s the thing about spaghetti western scores. They drive the theme into the ground. Suspense. Saloon. Showdown. If it works, it’s bliss. If the theme doesn’t hit you, well, you’re going to hear it a lot.

This is how we work.

Do not piss off Liz.

He’s a lizard brain. Always has been.

Old school politicians stepping out of their luxury cars tossing silver dollars to the rabble.

This is like the Gettysburg Address for glue-sniffers.

That this segment didn't win an Edward R. Murrow Award is a travesty.

Little mister honey badger thinks he can take on a coyote.

Hello and what took you so long to all those just now discovering how black his heart is.

Hell of a run.