call me cray-cray like Kanye
I'm bald Brittney Spears
throwing umbrellas like it ain't rained in years
bitch I'm milkshake bopping
champagne popping
got all the fellas flocking
round this girlie guap dropping
I'm eating in the front
while ya'll in the back stocking
I'm smoking bowls of kush
ya'll scraping resin off the bottom
Oh U mad? I'm cock blocking
now you're Facebook stalking
me me me me, I'm so fucking pretty
getting youtube hits like Frazier/Ali
two for one, what a pair, sexy sweet Siamese
rep that litter life, clowning ya'll like Ali G
your dick's so Microsoft
my pussy's popping like Linux
got me gleeking like a geek
keep licking till I'm finished
I'm a 16 bar fanatic
eat 'em up like Xanax
my verses are tighter than Richard Simmons' spandex
Smokin on that kill, call this kush the mindkilla
go dumb like gorillas, crushin like Godzilla
chillin like chinchillas smoking hella cigarillas
with that Venus star power and the love-me chain
Sailor Moon on the brain, pixie sticks of cocaine
such a pretty bitch, you'd think Based God was my name
ecstasy and champagne, fry you up like Chow Mein
***
(155 bedroom shrines)
http://rookiemag.com/2012/02/not-creepy-at-all/
Here is my shrine (well, sort of shrine) that I made my freshman year at an all-girls boarding school. I called it my Wall of Man. I thought I was being deprived of my right to boys by my parents–it’s embarrassing. I’m now a senior, thankfully less boy-crazy, and more focused on my interests like photography, acting, literature, and (most important) David Bowie. What can I say? I’m still a little bit boy-crazy, but I’m also a proud Rookie. So here are a couple of pics of me at 15 doing some really embarrassing poses in front of my Wall of Man. Enjoy! –Margaret, 18
from Claire, 16
a holy man in a sacred place
This is my “Voodoo Shrine,” the altar of my “Voodoo Religion.” Its content varies from artifacts found near the River Thames to my Sylvanian Families–and Damien Hirst wall paper. To be honest, my Voodoo Religion is just an excuse to burn candles, float around in lacy dresses, and feel as witchy as possible. But my shrine does have “spiritual” satisfaction: staring at my “patron saint” Alex Turner’s lovely face as I recite spells. Rayanne Graff, my other saint, makes a rather pleasing idol. Telling people “I’m Voodoo and I have a shrine” is always a good way of getting the boys in my class to shut up. –Elektra, 14
I had quite the Smashing Pumpkins obsession, starting in 6th grade or so. It bordered on unhealthy–I kept a journal full of letters to Billy Corgan (only HE could understand my pain!), convinced my parents to take me to an SP show in the middle of a family vacation, and held birthday parties for Billy every March 17th, where all my friends were required to wear SP T-shirts. I took these photos when I was 16 and decided it was time to “move on.” (The Cure was SO GOOD! I had just discovered them!) After I took the pics I dismantled the whole thing. I think all of it is still packed away in my Dad’s attic. But I did recently buy the vinyl reissues of Gish and Siamese Dream, so I guess I haven’t moved on entirely. –Alexis
shrine for Troll dolls
This is my shrine (that I didn’t realize was a shrine until yesterday) to my dearly departed pet rabbit named Richard. He was a smart, rugged, nifty boy who cheered me on and then chewed all of my best handbag straps. I started off with a small collection of rabbit-related paraphernalia beside my bed and it has grown into this. I say: love me, love my love of rabbits! Shrine-making is definitely one of my favorite late Sunday afternoon pastimes. –Kate
***
Dilbert 3 by CBoyardee
Lil B - In Down Bad
***
LITERARY TUMBLRS
(see what New Yorkers are reading on the subway)
http://coverspy.tumblr.com/
(comic reviews of noncomic books)
http://hornreviews.tumblr.com/
(sensitive, urbane, melancholic literary people looking for relationships with other sensitive, urbane, melancholic literary people--n+1 personal ads)
http://www.npluspersonals.com/
THE BLOND ANNA KARENINA
Me: Medium height, bird-like build, blonde, and blue-eyed with a hint of Anna Karenina. Enjoy a healthy mix of mid-twenties yuppiedom and deep literary contemplation. Attempting to be a writer in my free time has resulted in many weekend mornings spent over hemp milk lattes in the company of friends. Would like to keep friends, but also acquire a romantic and vaguely mysterious companion.
You: Humorous, intellectual, able to enjoy slightly overwrought independent films and indulge (but not necessarily follow) my pro-animals diet. An arty manly-man, if you will. Leaning leftwards politically, such that we may avoid petty spats over half-full wine glasses. Perhaps prone to a certain sense of wonder, leading to wanderlust with an idealistic aftertaste. One of the two: Tall and attractive in an old-world way, potentially possessing an aristocratic nose and spectacles. Alternately—ruggedly handsome, potentially possessing a pit bull mix or a ranch in Wyoming. If you are both, I tip my hat to you.
("in which we reflect on books given us by loved ones")
http://thebookstheygaveme.tumblr.com/
We met in Athens. He was a Greek student studying American lit, and I was an American student writing Greek theater.
He couldn’t believe that I hadn’t read Hemingway, and he teased me about it the entire time I was there. I teased him about being an entitled Anarchist. We did all of this teasing in front of my boyfriend of four years.
The teasing turned desperate and we took to hiding in elevators and wandering the city late at night. On my last night in town we drank ourselves stupid and gave in to our mutual desire.
I was running for the plane and he slipped me his tattered copy of The Sun Also Rises, and I gave him a brand-new Breakfast of Champions that I had picked up in an English-language bookstore. In his inscription he likened me to Daffy Duck and left me a riddle that, if solved, would lead to his email address. I left him a hidden message on twenty one Post-It notes strewn through his new paperback.
We solved the riddles and spent a few months sending feverish emails about love and destiny, but when I saw him months later we couldn’t look each other in the eye. He spent a week in the apartment that I shared with my boyfriend.
I was the spoiled, selfish woman, and he was the rugged, drunken man.
We may not have lasted, but he introduced me to my one true love: Hemingway.
***
Winslow Homer
BLANCHE MCCARTHY by Wallace Stevens
Look in the terrible mirror of the sky
And not in this dead glass, which can reflect
Only the surfaces--the bending arm,
The leaning shoulder and the searching eye.
Look in the terrible mirror of the sky.
Oh, bend against the invisible; and lean
To symbols of descending night; and search
The glare of revelations going by!
Look in the terrible mirror of the sky.
See how the absent moon waits in a glade
Of your dark self, and how the wings of stars,
Upward, from unimagined coverts, fly.
***
Hollis Brown Thornton
http://www.hollisbrownthornton.com/
http://hollisbrownthornton.tumblr.com/
***
Britney Spears - Toxic
***
diorpaint.tumblr.com
Les Miserable
***
I like when it's really rainy and gray outside cuz it means I get to pull out this album and stare meaningfully out the window
Jackson C Frank - Blues Run the Game
***
The ideal P Diddy lifestyle @5:09:
“If I had things my way, I’d never work. I’d just stay home all day, watch Scarface 50 times, eat a turkey sandwich and have sex all ***** day! Then I’d dress up like a clown and surprise kids at schools. Then I’d take a dump in the back of a movie theatre and just wait till somebody sat in it, hear it squish. That’s funny to me. Then I’d paint and read and play violin. I’d climb the mountains and sing the songs that I like to sing. But I don’t got that kinda time.”
Chappelle Show "Making the Band"
***
Moneyball trailer
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