Friggin’ Gotye Was on the Radio Every 45 Seconds
Somebody That I Used to Know, in its original and re-mixed glory, was a monster hit. Gotye and Kimbra trade-off verses like some dystopian version of Meatloaf’s Paradise By the Dashboard Light. The lyrics resolutely prove you can’t have your cake and eat it too.
One of the best things to come from the Gotye takeover is this clever vid of two grade-schoolers alternately lip-synching the male and female parts. Very cute.
Bath Salts Make You a Zombie (Not Really)
Now banned in Canada, methylenedioxypyrovalerone–or MDPV for those who have less time–produces some startling symptoms, as we learned at the end of May, when Eugene White bath-salted his way to Zombie-Land by mauling a homeless man. But wait! Toxicology reports reveal only one drug in White’s system–marijuana. So what led him to go Reefer Madness? White’s girlfriend indicated he was acting strangely that day, leaving the house incoherent, Bible in hand. Only hours later he was nude and prowling, torn pages of the Bible trailing him down a hot Miami highway.
So, back to this MDPV. The ghoulish effects of this designer drug–hallucinations, violence, increased tolerance for pain–has led to generous swelling in the Zombie Apocalypse movement. Even the Centers for Disease Control has joined rank, making available their graphic novel Preparedness 101: Zombie Pandemic. Pretty cool.
Parenthetically speaking, the term “bath salts” refers to MDPVs crystalline resemblance to the soothing consumer product, whose effect calms, rather than Zombifies.
I dabbled a bit in the salts. Didn’t really affect me though…
Shore Traffic Is a Whining Whore
The psychology of traffic baffles me. I mean, just drive people! Simply move forward. But no, all the world is a distraction when we get behind the wheel, especially an accident. We rubberneck because we have to, sucked-in by what could be our fate, a grim reminder of our mortality.
Those trips to the shore, winding through the Garden State Parkway’s horrifying 140s, fording the Driscoll Bridge and eventually landing in Monmouth and Ocean County–marred by hours spent in traffic. Maybe I’m the whining whore.
Classic Car Shows at Wendy’s
Muscle cars and Frostys–you can’t go wrong. Me and my boy love these geek-outs on wheels. We met Mopar Bob this Summer, which was truly legendary (how could it not be, with a name like that). The tattoo on his foreman spelled-out, in a font mildly reminiscent of Scriptina M-O-P-A-R B-O-B. What a feminine font for such a tough guy!
Check out Superman and Mopar Bob’s sweet-ass Chrysler LeBaron Wagon. Hot stuff!
More from our trips to the Classic Car/Wendy’s bonanza here….
Designated Drivers Lose in the End
Ever volunteer to be the designated driver? Ever wish you didn’t volunteer? I do. Late one summer night, after leaving a “Gentleman’s Club,” my severely inebriated passenger decided he could fly–the length of my car. His highly questionable approach started at the rear bumper, ending milliseconds later with his left knee shattering the rear window.
So Long Summer. . . .
I say goodbye to Summer, all of its choking humidity and the sweaty t-shirt pits it inspires. Here’s to the coming Fall and the mother of all events–Halloween! For more laughs, my favorite costume is recounted here, The Chalk Outline: A Halloween Costume for the Morose. It was killer!