27 October 2011
In a way it is even humiliating
to watch coal-miners working. It raises in you
a momentary doubt about your own status
as an ‘intellectual’ and a superior
person generally. For it is brought home to
you, at least while you are watching, that it is only
because miners sweat their guts out that superior
persons can remain superior. You and I
and the editor of the Times Literary
Sup., and the Nancy poets and the Archbishop
of Canterbury and Comerade X, author
of Marxism for Infants–all of us really
owe the comparative decency of our lives
to poor drudges underground, blackened to the eyes,
with their throats full of coal dust, driving their shovels
forward with arms and belly muscles of steel.
From George Orwell's 1937 book 'The Road to Wigan Pier' as cited on Fors Clavigera. Submitted by Marika Rose.
25 October 2011
You live very self-consciously, in Brooklyn.
Do you drink juice or coffee or eat vegetables?
How do you live with yourself
and your bourgeois lifestyle choices?
Have you ever grown a plant?
You monster, you
gentrifying Brooklyn monster.
Your plant is a symbol.
Punch that up on your sushi iPhone app
where you get your food from
in your new robot Brooklyn dystopia,
you invasive specie.
Do you like quirky things?
It's people like you
who are ruining the Brooklyn remembered
by old folks who sit on stoops
and provide readily available sound bites
about the days of old.
From the article Brooklyn is cool until you start reading about it in Gawker. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.
20 October 2011
Habitual close-talker fogs up screen
with grub-related obfuscation.
Nation: whither Listerine?
Sarah Dempster's review of Nigel Slater's Simple Cooking, 16th October 2011. Submitted by Marika Rose.
18 October 2011
I had my at ‘em ball going today.
We’ve got to have fun. The catcher and I
were on the same wavelength. That’s why they pay
him x million dollars. Give the guy
some credit; he hit a good pitch. Yes. No.
You saw it … write it. You’re only as good
as your last game. I just wanted to go
as hard as I could as long as I could.
That All-Star voting is a joke. It takes
twenty-four players. I couldn’t have done it
without my teammates. With a couple breaks,
we win that game. I don’t get paid to hit.
Hey, we were due to catch a break or two.
I did my best, and that’s all I can do.
From Futility Closet: 'In 1990, weary of repetitive interviews, Phillies pitcher Don Carman posted this list of responses on his locker. “You saw the game,” he told reporters. “Take what you need.”' Submitted by Gabriel Smy.
13 October 2011
Thanks to the girls for
a laugh-out-loud weekend
away. I will never forget
us walking into that bar
full of golfers when we
were dressed in our
white dressing gowns
A text message featured in the Metro newspaper's Good Deed Feed, 4th October 2011. Submitted by Marika Rose.
11 October 2011
A large percentage of what you claim
happens to be astonishingly accurate
and it makes me ponder why I hadn’t
looked at this in this light previously.
This article really did turn the light
on for me as far as this specific
subject goes. But there is one point I am
not necessarily too cozy with
so whilst I make an effort to reconcile
that with the main theme of your point, permit
me to see exactly what all the rest
of your visitors have to point out.
A spam comment from the blog SmyWord. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.
06 October 2011
Looks fab. Alas I
tame the feral youths
of Wythenshawe on Wednesdays.
Taken from a friend's facebook page, turning down an invitation on 3rd October 2011. Submitted by Ailsa Holland.
05 October 2011
There are a lot of secret camera which
in my house,
in my toilet,
in my bedroom,
in my bathroom,
at my clothes
and in my eye glasses
from 2002 until now.
In turkey businessman
Yahya and his son Avni
spy me seven days and twenty-four hours.
I apply to public prosecutor
at many times.
But public prosecutor of turkey doesn’t
do something until now.
They know where I am
and my life is in hell
by the Yahya and Fetullah’s friends
they put urine of bottle on my road.
somebody drives car direct on me.
somebody threaten me sometimes.
I always see disabled human on my road.
thus they destroy my psychology.
prostitute always disturb me.
somebody blaspheme to my father and mother.
A lot of people laugh to me.
This psychology war
are done by Yahya in 2002-2006.
from the 2007 this psychology war
is done by the Fetullah and newspaper’s man
which name is Zaman.
Fetullah’s friends threaten me
I apply to prime minister TAYYİP,
president of the republic ABDULLAH,
Office of the prosecutor,
and police department,
All of them didn’t do anything.
I want you to help me.
Bizarre email spam received on 26 September 2011, with last names removed to allow for the slim possibility that these are real people. Submitted by Tom Cashman.