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One of strangest disasters I ever heard of was the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

If you had to choose how to die, drowning in molasses would probably not rank high on your list. On Jan. 15, 1919, 21 people, a dozen horses and at least one cat had no choice. This day was unseasonably warm, causing a huge molasses tank 50 ft (15 m) tall, 90 ft (27 m) in diameter and containing as much as 2,300,000 US gal (8,700,000 L) to collapse. The collapse unleashed an immense wave of molasses Read the rest of this entry »

Today we take a look a band from my old stomping grounds, none other than the Minotaur-obsessed fitness enthusiasts of Benchpress 3000. Loud, fast, and sweaty, they were dressing in absurd late 70’s/early 80’s fitness garb long before it (once again) became fashionable.

Personal favorite: There is No Pain in Weight Gain, a rallying cry against muscle-building supplements. Put down that shake, eat a fucking steak, indeed.

I just thought I’d point out that it’s 4:20 PM. That’s all.

target. Any day, any TIME of the day, it’s crowded with every asshole, hipster and idiot from here to the schuylkill river. The parking lot (equivalent to 2 city blocks long, perhaps two wide) is always jammed packed. Cars circle the parking lot looking for a space closer to the door, even by just a few feet and pay no mind to innocent walkers trying to cross in the cross walk. Alternatively, everyone else wanders in the parking lot and self assured hipster assholes stroll through the parking lot at turtle-like speeds and clog up both lanes.

Target, despite have every register known to man open – will have lines that extend far into the isles. Everything is always picked over. I wanna know what god damned bigfoot woman is buying up all the size 11 shoes before I get there, and why she also feels the need to buy up all the medium/large sized skivvies and dresses.

I’d rather go to the post office at 4:45 on an afternoon than this mecca of crazy! However, Target is [sadly] the only place (outside of the falling apart K Mart and the unmentionable 5th layer of hell that is known as WAL MART) where you can buy a stick of deodorant, computer mouse, mailing tape, some candy and a dress in one shop.

But god damn it, why is is a fucking magnet for every crazy, self absorbed, self-entitled asshat with NO common manners?

Bain Wolfkind! What can be said about him? Due to my complete lack of research for this article, I’m going to say: He’s from Australia. Also, his music just happens to be fairly awesome, in a violence-laced blues/lounge sort of way. So go listen to it.

Personal favorite: Sailor’s Blood, a high-distortion blues tune of lust gone wrong and murder gone right.

When will this be over? When will this all end? I kept thinking, until, finally, it was! We all did our usual thing, the post-meeting extra cup of coffee, a donut or two, catch up on memos we didn’t receive and general office chit-chat. (Except that asshole Bob, always too good to care what anyone else thinks.) I got an eyeful of that one new secretary, Jane. As much as I could with her sitting next to me, anyway. Brad said he’d ask her along after but he didn’t. Forgot, he said, but I know he “forgot” on purpose, just as he likes to “forget” to do his fucking job sometimes though they pay him so well for it. Good luck ever getting him to do a friend a favor. All those girls are the same, anyhow, they only drink together so they can mutual reinforce each other’s sluttish behavior with the blue-collar losers and so-called artists they meet at clubs.

Brad and I knocked off to make happy hour at our usual place, and soon I found out why he was so quick to “forget”. He’s dating a fucking stripper! That gloating bastard was grinning ear to ear. “We’d all had quite a few, you know, and it was our last stop for the night. Hugh dared to go and talk to this one girl, real tall and leggy, over at the bar. Nooo way did he think I’d really do it, though! You know I’ve always had my luck with the ladies, but it was like magic, this time. I strolled up beside her, right, the model of affluent confidence, and when she turned to me, I gave her my best smile, and said to her, straight up, ‘Don’t worry, honey, I can afford you.’ Man, it was fucking smooth. Fortune favors the brave, and I tell you lady luck smiled on me that night. It’s nothing serious, of course, I mean I can’t be bringing a fucking girl like that home, those bitches are all crazy, but man, let me tell you some of the shit this girl will do in bed…”

By the time he was done bragging about his latest conquest, I was drunk, tired, and feeling fatter than ever. Brad took off saying he was supposed to pick up his new “fuck toy” when her shift ended. I stayed, had one more, then climbed into my car and came home. After I got out, I patted Beemer affectionately above her hood ornament as always, but then I paused, I don’t know why. My garage was clean and quiet, everything was quiet. Just the ticking of a cooling Bavarian engine. For a second I got the urge to just lay down on the smooth, cool concrete and look at things, but it passed and I came inside instead. Now I’m sitting here, and I feel like I’m missing out. Like… there’s things out there happening right now. Maybe what I need is a wife, or like what Brad has. Better, I’d put her through school, get her out of dancing, make her grateful to me, or I could get one of those mail-order brides, a nice Russian girl from Siberia. I’d seem like a prince to her. Every thing’s for sale these days, and why shouldn’t it be? I work hard for my money, don’t I?

phonetic-alphabet-nato-irdial

From The Conet Numbers Project, being a collection of such esoteric government transmissions.

Since we’re trying to pick up the pieces of anti-social.com here let’s remember some of our favorite threads. I’ll get things started.

One of my favorite threads ever was the “To all the fat kids in the house” thread. Man, did that thing go crazy. Poor fuse was like, livid and shit, he probably burst a few blood vessels that day.

Got any other favorites?