You guys. The TECH. I have promised, and photobucket has delivered. Please view...
I'm procrastinating! When I was little, I thought it and prostitution were the same thing. Did I ever tell you that?
Some sites I thought were interesting:
Dedicated to cuteness, and it works.
Primordial Tim Burton claymation.
Poem! Psych. It's a fiction. You've probably read it before, but it made me laugh again lately, to be perfectly honest.
VICES, RACKS, AND ROWING MACHINES
John Munshour is a skinny white guy who's not creepy around the ladies. Being in New York City affords modern man many chances to scare the shit out of women, but John tries his best to take none of those chances. He doesn't drink or smoke. John classifies most of his social desires as sicknesses that he cannot cut out of himself, because he knows they are part of being human. Instead, John's philosophy is that these forces in his life, these sexual, violent, and emotional forces can and should be put under the yoke and made to pull him to victory. This metaphor is well fitting, especially when considering the way he goes to the gym.
Working out is a diseased desire for the athletic sex he may or may not have in his life. He knows this. He goes to the gym to trick himself into getting fit. He's not really sure why any person goes to the gym if not for sex. Maybe they could be preparing to beat up someone who insults a future girlfriend. But this, in an ideal universe, will most certainly lead to sex anyway. No difference to John. But mostly, he is concerned about sex. Athletic, euphoric sex that makes people honest. And he imagines that euphoric sex is hard to coordinate, especially if one's abdominals are not in top condition. With this goal in mind, John pulls rhythms out of the rowing machine. Relax, grip the fake oars, haul your arms off. Relax, grip the fake oars, haul your arms off. Look in the mirror in front of you. Check out your hair. “Am I sexy?”
John's not quite sure what it involves or even why he wants it, but sex seems like a healthy goal to reach for, even in the gym. Of course, he doesn't much think about it while working out. Not only would picking up girls at the gym be creepy, he's obsessed with keeping in time with the music. Can’t break his stride. Fake rowing in the gym, he tells himself, is all about the music. And not just rhythmically speaking. Every time something sad starts flowing through his headphones, John makes sure he looks extra-sternly ahead, as though he is driving himself to something incredible and serious. He’s not rowing to anywhere, of course. But he’s going to be one hell of a hunk of man when he gets there.
Music: Cake. That is all.