Cheryl is a Pig Dyke

That is etched into the pavement somewhere along North Henry Street in Brooklyn. It seems a fitting prologue. I was remarking just yesterday how New Yorkers, even on a sunny Sunday afternoon, have the look of Jews in the Warsaw ghetto; sick, emaciated, clinging to life, and not the least bit happy that the sun has come out for the first time in six months. What gives? (I love that expression) But really? Californians, the majority of which are bludgeoned with the sun nearly year-round, seem to never take it for granted, and in fact, celebrate the occasion to buy a new pair of cheap sunglasses or maybe sun the baps. Maybe New York is just a hateful place and my heart is growing soft, or maybe I just like a bit of sunshine, a good flea market, and some of those free cheese samples at Wholefoods every now and again. These were my thoughts yesterday when I was shoved behind this guy while getting off the G train.















It took a few attempts, but I think I managed to get a decent shot of his badge, which says 'Purple makes life bearable.' I gave serious consideration to punching him in the back of the neck in the name of all that is sacred on this earth.

It is, by the way, in the forties and raining today.


makes me want to listen to all things loud and angry...here goes:


Mastodon- Blood and Thunder mp3

At The Gates- Suicide Nation mp3

Goatsnake- IV mp3