Subscribing to Extra Evil takes moxie.
Today’s Fortune: You’ve acquired something of questionable value.
The State of the Union had a heckling section.
Florida banned black ink.
A balloon and fireworks celebrated the new US-China trade record.
I’d regret an earthquake one-liner in the morning.
Miraculously, only 92% of studied NFL players have CTE.
Jupiter’s still hogging all the moons.
Projection’s fun. I wrote a short riff about people going mad indoors, before remembering that I’ve been sealed off like a monk, working on this manuscript. Most “kids these days” jokes must be confessions.
It’ll be nice when New York thaws out. Then I can slave away on a nice bench. Until the NYPD gets bored, at least.
I’ve been thinking about kids. Not having them, but avoiding questions about them.
My family’s high on the concept, despite four of my siblings having kids, and two of them handling it well. I don’t plan on breaking the tie.
I’m down to two ideas: pretend to be a antinatalist lunatic, or pretend to have a kid.
The latter’s a tougher sell, but easier on my self-esteem. Young actors could use the work, and I could use my dignity.
A few years ago, the Times covered the buzz around a pill replacing exercise. It never came about, so trial patients probably grew a second head. But commentators reflexively hated the idea, independent of any side effects.
That’s a fun flamewar to me, because it’s a light version of all the Gattaca questions we’ll spend the next century fist-fighting over. Today’s it’s muscles, tomorrow it’s flight.
The company line is that it’s wrong to get something for nothing. I’m not a fan of the company line. Taking something from someone–à la AI plagiarists–is unambiguously wrong. Destroying your heart, à la nandralone, is unwise. But a genuine cheat code? That’d be special. I’d like seeing more mutants running around.
It’s probably a moot question, since the company that cracks it will charge half Batista’s income for one dose. But it’s a fun reminder that my moral fiber isn’t quite perfect, and I should be less critical of other people. I’m the kind of guy that dies halfway through every cyberpunk story.
The next time you feel obnoxious, remember that Princeton University asks for donations.
Speaking of steroids and bloated monoliths, it’s Super Bowl Sunday! When America comes together and pretends the helmets work.
I have a collaboration with Situation Normal and Field Research coming Sunday. Featuring an ad agency longtime readers might remember.
You could bet on the game, like a sucker. Or you could gamble on who wins the poll.
If you read anything by me this, make it this short story. Or my book, actually. But the story is free.
My latest 1-900-HOTDOG column covers the show/torture device Naked Attraction.
Here’s a sci-fi bit about our gun culture’s trajectory.
Don’ t cross the dystopian author picket line.
My book Everything Abridged cures all.
The better of my two McSweeney’s cameos.
Again, tag-team action this Sunday.
I’m honestly torn between two concepts for the next 1-900-HOTDOG column, and I’m halfway through both. I might just toss a coin.
I managed to score a three-point shot with the New Yorker stuff, so more of that in the near-ish future.
One Sentence Reviews
Paul Mooney – Jesus is Black: A wild special glued to a dull documentary. (3.5/5)
Lisa Lampanelli – Long Live the Queen: No surprises. (2.5/5)
The Refused – The Shape of Punk to Come: It hits hard, like a community outreach officer. (4/5)
Health – Disco 4 (Part II): You don’t have to like everyone at the party to have fun. (3.5/5)
F.O.O.L. – Mercenary: Straight across the synthwave plate. (2.5/5)
Baroness – Gold & Grey: I’m a serial procrastinator. (4.5/5)
Which paid feature would you be into?
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