Thoughts are things. Choose the good ones. (Mike Dooley)
Ted Kaczynski, Samantha Rupnow was your soldier-child. (Apologies to The Minutemen, and Bob Dylan.)
The wages of sin are death, but the gift of God is eternal life. Yeah, maybe the first part.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.
How can Christians not see that Donald Trump is the Anti-Christ?
Feel the Bern! Soak the rich!
Wheaties, breakfast of champions. Feel the bran!
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. And Kurt Vonnegut.
I think, therefore I am. Or am I just a large language model?
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
...those last few were Chat-GPT auto-completing in my editor, but now I've spiced them up
HYPERALDOSTERONISM DETERMINATELY INSTIGATES PRESCIENTIFIC FISHPOND ARTLESSNESS
A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag
Is fast and bulbous ...
I'm a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout.
A friend recently said that the gravitational constant varies
by up to 1%, and that 'scientists just pretend it's not happening.'
This is a fringe theory; the ten most reputable measurements since 1969, as reported by
Wikipedia, show a maximum difference of 0.02% when plugged into a spreadsheet. Further:
analysis of observations of 580 type Ia supernovae shows that the gravitational constant
has varied by less than one part in ten billion per year over the last nine billion years.
Suck A Dick Jockey
Afroman
Afroholic: The Even Better Times (2004)
I always wanted to be on the radio, but they wouldn't play me though.
Whack-ass corporate world DJ only play what the pencil neck geeks say play.
I stopped making songs for them, I started making songs for me.
What's wrong with me? I sold it on the street, they love my beat.
Homemade talent, packed with heat, somebody put me on after next thing you know.
I'm on the radio in San Diego, Howard Stern gave me a spin.
After Mad Cow, nationwide trend, don't let radio stations depress you.
Give it to the people, they will request you, DJs play what the people pick.
He's a musical waiter, he sucks at the acting.
Suck-a-dick jockeys, you think you're fly.
You play that bullshit, and we know the reason why you try to act like the radio station is yours.
But it's not you corporate ass kissing Clear Channel whores.
DJs invite me to they show, diss me before I hit the dough.
On that note, I would like to say, fuck a two-faced hypocrite DJ.
Throw man-made DJs, dip they pancake, another hit, oh shit, now you're giving me props.
Take a picture and you're begging me to give you some drops.
Sucker DJ, dick jockey, get your ass kicked like hockey.
Why play her, Haitian? I did a show for your whack-ass station, gave you a picture and an autograph.
Now you want to diss me for a cheap laugh.
I understand why you hate me, your show suck and you need some raise, you know about it.
So let me see, we need somebody interested, talk about me.
You big mouth jealous, ignorant cocky, mainstream corporate sucker dick jockeys.
Sucker dick jockeys, you think you're fly.
You play that bullshit and we know the reason why.
You try to act like the radio station is yours.
But it's not you corporate ass-kissing Clear Channel whores.
Sucker dick jockeys, you think you're fly.
You play that bullshit and we know the reason why.
You try to act like the radio station is yours.
But it's not you corporate ass kissing Clear Channel whores.
Why even listen to the radio?
Why not just stick a CD in?
Why wait for him to play some shit you already got?
You know, welcome to the university of sucker dick jockeys.
Right now, you're probably playing good music.
But when we get through with you, you're going to suck.
Because this is the sucker dick jockey university.
We're going to teach you how to play all kinds of bullshit.
We will teach you brown nosing broadcasting.
We will teach you pussy licking promotions.
And we will show you how to ride around in your own location bombing vain.
Yes, we'll show you how to play a song so many times it go out of style in one day.
We'll teach you how to look like a thug but take orders from a briefcase necktie,
butt cheek, pencil neck geek that knows jack shit about rap music.
Got you.
Got you.
Yes, sir, boss.
Got you.
Got you.
Yes, sir, boss.
Got you.
Got you.
Yes, sir, boss.
I'm gay.
What do you want me to play?
Got you.
Got you.
Yes, sir, boss.
Got you.
Got you.
Yes, sir, boss.
Got you.
Got you.
Yes, sir, boss.
I'm gay.
What do you want me to play?
Is this you?
Are you that corporate-ass-kissing, whack-music-playing, pencil-neck-geek-obeying,
nobody that's always talking about somebody?
Yup, you probably are.
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Booker!
Turn the radio off.
