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A Bitter Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan can be really bitter sometimes. I pity the fool who tries to unfriend him on Facebook.

From She’s Your Lover Now, 1964:

I’d do it, but I, I just can’t remember how
You talk to her
She’s your lover now

 

From Idiot Wind, 1975:

One day you’ll be in the ditch, flies buzzin’ around your eyes
Blood on your saddle

 

From The Levee’s Gonna Break, 2006:

I picked you up from the gutter and this is the thanks I get

 

From Ballad of a Thin Man, 1965:

Because something is happening here
But you don’t know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?

 

From Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right, 1962:

I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time

 

From Everything Is Broken, 1989:

Seem like every time you stop and turn around
Something else just hit the ground

 

From Got My Mind Made Up, 1986:

You will be alright, girl,
Someone’s watchin’ over you.
He won’t do nothin’ to you
Baby that I wouldn’t do.

 

From It Ain’t Me Babe, 1964:

You say you’re lookin’ for someone
Who’ll pick you up each time you fall
To gather flowers constantly
An’ to come each time you call
A lover for your life an’ nothing more
But it ain’t me, babe

 

From Like a Rolling Stone, 1965:

And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you’re gonna have to get used to it
You said you’d never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He’s not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?

 

From Masters of War, 1963:

And I hope that you die
And your death’ll come soon
I will follow your casket
In the pale afternoon
And I’ll watch while you’re lowered
Down to your deathbed
And I’ll stand over your grave
And make sure that you’re dead

 

From Positively 4th Street, 1965:

You see me on the street
You always act surprised
You say, “How are you?” “Good luck”
But you don’t mean it

 

From Cold Irons Bound, 1997:

I thought they were friends of mine
I was wrong aobut them all.

“Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien”

Top Five Life Regrets

  1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
  2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.
  3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
  4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
  5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
  1. I wish I hadn’t taken the job for the money.
  2. I wish I had quit earlier.
  3. I wish I had the confidence to start my own business.
  4. I wish I had used my time at school more productively.
  5. I wish I had acted on my career hunches.

A public record of one of my infrequent releases into the community. This photo was taken without my consent at an Italian restaurant called Eatalian Cafe. It’s in the warehouse district of Gardena, and looks like a warehouse itself, cold and white and bare. 
We were waiting about forty minutes for a table, a wait which was further demoralised by the fact that they do not accept reservations. What kind of restaurant doesn’t accept reservations? This one. Standing around in the cold clamour, serving staff self-consciously avoiding eye contact as they shuttle past, watching people not nearly as well-dressed as I actually eating something…
When we were finally seated, there was a table beside us shouting and screaming and exchanging meaningless gifts. At one point, they all left - all nine of them - to abuse the dessert counter, foolishly leaving their wine glasses unguarded. There were dark mutterings that perhaps this would be a good time to steal their wine, as a sort of payment for putting up with the unnecessary volume of their empty fun. I thought it would be a more fitting tribute to deposit urine in their glasses, but it’s hard to get support for original and creative ideas.
I like my pizza crusts the way I like my women - thin and crispy. The pizza was nice, I guess. I don’t get emotional about food, but there was nothing wrong with it. Afterwards, instead of bringing you the ice cream, you have to go and get it yourself. I think this is supposed to be a “feature” of the restaurant, but I thought the whole point of these places is that you don’t have to walk around to get your food. Also, I think it’s time to put away the idea that gelato isn’t ice cream. We’re all grown-ups. We know ice cream when we see it. 

A public record of one of my infrequent releases into the community. This photo was taken without my consent at an Italian restaurant called Eatalian Cafe. It’s in the warehouse district of Gardena, and looks like a warehouse itself, cold and white and bare. 

We were waiting about forty minutes for a table, a wait which was further demoralised by the fact that they do not accept reservations. What kind of restaurant doesn’t accept reservations? This one. Standing around in the cold clamour, serving staff self-consciously avoiding eye contact as they shuttle past, watching people not nearly as well-dressed as I actually eating something…

When we were finally seated, there was a table beside us shouting and screaming and exchanging meaningless gifts. At one point, they all left - all nine of them - to abuse the dessert counter, foolishly leaving their wine glasses unguarded. There were dark mutterings that perhaps this would be a good time to steal their wine, as a sort of payment for putting up with the unnecessary volume of their empty fun. I thought it would be a more fitting tribute to deposit urine in their glasses, but it’s hard to get support for original and creative ideas.

I like my pizza crusts the way I like my women - thin and crispy. The pizza was nice, I guess. I don’t get emotional about food, but there was nothing wrong with it. Afterwards, instead of bringing you the ice cream, you have to go and get it yourself. I think this is supposed to be a “feature” of the restaurant, but I thought the whole point of these places is that you don’t have to walk around to get your food. Also, I think it’s time to put away the idea that gelato isn’t ice cream. We’re all grown-ups. We know ice cream when we see it. 

Makin’ new friends on Facebook! 
In other news, if you know who Deckard Cain is, the next time you watch The Dark Knight Rises, your film will be ruined. You’re welcome.
Special guest: armyofdorkness

Makin’ new friends on Facebook! 

In other news, if you know who Deckard Cain is, the next time you watch The Dark Knight Rises, your film will be ruined. You’re welcome.

Special guest: armyofdorkness

Forever 21 sells affordable, summery clothes to affordable, summery girls in Los Angeles, particularly beloved by my Asian friends. It’s owned by a Korean Christian, which by popular consensus is the very worst kind of Christian there is. Being Christians, they’ve run into all sorts of trouble, including failing to pay proper wages, unnecessarily fucking with their workers and stealing other people’s designs (including Diane Von Furstenburg and Gwen Stefani) and advertising ideas. They’ve even had a documentary made about them, the IMDb page for which is curiously coy on the identity of the “mega-trendy clothing retailer” (it’s Forever 21).

Anyway, that’s not why I posted here. I posted because I find myself in their stores regularly, looking at racks and racks of horrible, glittery, stripey, flowing, tight things made out of bad material which will surely attract lightning if you find yourself walking home from the club. The only good thing about that place is the soundtrack. Whoever is in charge of the music deserves some sort of prize.

Anyway, that’s not what this post is about. This post is about the plus size range, which used to be called Faith, in honour of the fact that it’s being run by Christians, but which my mind, without consultation, always rearranged to Fhati. Even now, the girls I know who go there, regardless of their own size, call that section Forever Fatties. This is the detrimental effect I have on people. 

So, when they decided to change it to Forever 21+, was there relief all around? There was not. There was something close to consternation, but never mind about that. Clearly stores which make special considerations for the larger lady deserve some sort of credit, and they have to call that section something. There’s no point in being gratuitously offensive, as I have here in this post for the purposes of “humour”, so what can they call it? Maybe they shouldn’t call it anything, and just call the rest of the store Forever 21 Skinny Bitch? 

Maybe it would make more sense to just have the plus size clothes with the skinny clothes instead of cordoning off the Lebensunwertes Leben into their own special pen? But then there are certain styles and cuts that undeniably flatter the larger figure, so they would have to be separate, unless you feel like trolling the Skinnies. This might be funny, but it doesn’t amount to much of a business plan.

There must be some way of organising the merchandise that is neither patronising nor offensive, some way to mentally categorise clothes that doesn’t cause your heart to sink a little every time you are forced to click on that section to find something that fits. Ideas? Suggestions?