2136
Crank it...now stay down...DOUBLE DREAM HANDS.
2122
Looking at these fucking hipsters! But these are not normal fucking hipsters -- these are SEATTLE hipsters! They have mountain man chin beards! They have enough money to actually buy clothing from American Apparel! These do an unnecessary slow-mo jump at 1:46!
This video is the Pixie's and that guy at the party who brought his sketchbook's stillborn child.
2120
When a gif cap appears within hours of a video being introduced to the world, you know that shit's 'bout to explode.
Original video context here. I could post the video, too, I suppose, but bleh, I'm lazy. Click the link -- I honestly don't think it's as good as the gif alone.
2116
I haven't posted an online game in a while, mainly because the majority of them lose my interest after about ten seconds, but I feel compelled to direct you to TOTAL JERKFACE.
The premise of the game is simple - ride your character's bike/Segway/shopping card/wheel chair to the goal. Oh, and try not to explode into a sea of blood.
My favorite character is irresponsible dad (less at left). I appreciate that his emotional distance allows him to watch the stage dice his child like so much butchered meat and keep on keeping on toward our goal.
This reminds me of a story:
As a sophomore in college, my friends and I understandably played a lot of video games. We were young, greasy and had a deeper relationship with the hidden pornography folder on our laptops than any living being.
One week our attention was absorbed by a wonderful game called Burnout. Burnout is a series of car racing games known not for their main schtick but a mini-game of sorts included with each release. This mini-game involved hurtling one of Burnout's racing cars into an intersection or heavy traffic in an attempt to create the most expensive car accident possible. It was sadistic and absolutely addictive.
We tune back in at the weekend, when my roommate invited over a friend and the three of us set about playing, virtual Christian Crusaders storming Jerusalem, if the Crusades is an acceptable metaphor for ramming race cars into mini-vans, tankers and school buses. We were knee-deep in mashed cars when my roommate asked his friend where he'd been that week -- apparently he'd missed a handful of classes.
"Oh, I had to go back home for a few days," the friend said, mashing the buttons and not taking his eyes from the television screen. "Funeral."
My roommate and I gave our apologies, and he asked who died.
"Friend from high school," the friend continued, still playing. We asked how he died.
"Car accident."
It was about that moment that Burnout lost our interest.
2115
It's getting to the point where I'm just stealing things off people's facebook walls that show up in my newsfeed. It feels inappropriate.
From Bridget, without permission:
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