I pulled up to a parking spot with a beanbag in the middle of it near my apartment and stopped my car, hopped out, and placed the beanbag on the curb. The beanbag had already sat there for a few weeks now. I assumed it blew over, or came to life, or some rowdy teens kicked it (ending its brief miraculous life).
As I got back in the driver’s seat, this older cranky lady came out saying “I don’t want it here anymore, I don’t want it” and shoved the beanbag back into the parking spot.
I fumed for a millisecond and then said “okay” with cheer and got out again. I picked up the beanbag and moved it to the opposite curb (where she’ll still have to see it every day), then parked my car. She seemed okay with this.
This playlist starts out with an introverted whisper-song and then falls right into a 17min Blanck Mass hole. All choices are deliberate. Bumping jams lead to a little rock n’ roll and ends up at hip-hop for the closer.
I’m starting to think that nobody on Trump’s team colluded with Russia to win the election. Flynn and everything else that’s been dredged up is just what happens when a special investigation begins its Hungry Hungry Hippo-ing of everyone involved (the obvious example being the inquiry into Whitewater resulting in Bill Clinton’s eventual blowie impeachment and the conviction of several of Clinton’s associates for unrelated crimes).
It looks more like Russia tampered with the election in Trump’s favor and he didn’t find out until after he won. At which point he was like “oh no, once this gets out we’ll hold a do-over election and I’ll lose.”
This makes his current panic SO much funnier. He’s bumbling around, trying to get people to ignore something that wasn’t even his fault, and it just incriminates him further.
“Comey, please, god, can we just move past this Russia thing? I didn’t ask for it. It’d be so much simpler this way.”
[Later, Comey testifies that Trump is the Manchurian Candidate]
“No, dammit, ughhhh.”
“J-J-Jeffy, I can’t catch a break! Everyone’s so mean! A-weh-waaaaah~!”
[Later, a senator asks Jeff Sessions if the President has ever discussed Russia with him]
“It is longstanding Justice Department policy not to comment on privileged communications, be they tantrums, anxieties, or sobbing fits.”
Trump landed in some truly Hades-level personally-tailored torture here. The self-made mogul doesn’t actually deserve the credit for his greatest achievement, and his unwillingness to accept this will ruin his family’s name for all history. I shudder at the perfection.
If you bring up the need for “adequate mental health care” following a spree shooting but don’t also discuss, in equal proportion, the need for “adequate mental health care” in Chiraq, you care more about your right to kill than others’ right to live.
I think it’s healthy to see a Democrat go on a shooting spree for once. We’re reminded that even if they voted for Bernie, angry white men are the most dangerous humans alive.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever grow to enjoy Poppy’s “standard” videos, but of course I wouldn’t be able to resist any music she made. Of couurrrrssseee it would be released on Mad Decent.
Meanwhile, “I’m Poppy” is like the flipside of the song above. Bumpy, impure (as opposed to the goofy chastity above), ‘tuded up.
Where are the clubs that play this song? Bring me to them. It’s like they find remixes that are already extra and then extra-extra them. I will never stop loving the frenetic Northeast scene that chops everything into staccato bits.
Wampoholic 