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Open Letter From Walter F. Test

To whom it may concern,

This is Walter Test, founder of test.com, my family's long-standing monogrammed towel website. We were one of the first sites on the internet, knowing that my father's cousins children, the rat bastard egg suckers, would try to take the name first. By a narrow margin we got the exclusive license, and we were able to set up shop at Test.com. After nearly twenty years of hard work, busting my ass clicking boxes and pressing delete, I have to come out and say it: Stop using my email address to sign up for your dumb shit!

Everytime I log on to my email, which is simply mylastname@mylastname.com, instead of compliments regarding our high-quality line of custom-monogrammed towels, I am plagued by thousands of emails confirming accounts to some site called redtube. Figuring it was my cousin Red's video site chronicling his alfalfa sprout farm, I rushed over, only to find a bunch of depraved humans spraying bodily fluid around like champagne after a NASCAR race. Moreover, not one of the videos on the site features a single towel worth anything. Mostly shabby hotel-grade cloths that look like sandpaper compared to our latest luxury line, ToWell.

My son came up with the name, bless his little heart. He's not the brightest bulb in the house, but he's my little buddy. I remember the first time I toweled his slimy body. It was our very first line, the Dry Guy. Made of 100% polyester, it made a man out of you.

Tomorrow when I log into my email, I don't want to be inundated with emails confirming subscriptions to tofu recipe sites, anti-duck pills, dick pills, Steve Buscemi fanclub emails, or the latest lotion by Jennifer Love Hewitt. Please, no more emails about dog manicures, amazon wishlists that consist of nothing but Jennifer Love Hewitt lotions and boxes of tissues, flashy pens, and offers for a free trip to a third world country I've never heard of. And if I see one more email inviting me to try out Jared Fogle's new website, I swear to the good lord Jesus I will find you and give you the hardest rat tail you ever got. I will come to your house with our cheapest towel and give you the Indian Rug Burn of a lifetime. I mean it, no more user accounts to fannyticklers.com. Seriously!

Like my home towel says, WTF?


Sincerely,
Walter F. Test
Founder, test.com

Go Ahead, Make My Day

The nourishment is palatable.

Running

Have I mentioned my love on run-on sentences recently? If I haven't, let me explain. They lend a sort of exasperating quality to the speech, a sort of desperation to just get a single thought out while the uncertainties of the world and the certainty of death and the collision of all sorts of neurons being fired simultaneously start to take over and if you could only get this one thought out then maybe everything would be okay, especially if you were to drop dead right here, without finishing your full thought but at least with this one last thought, please listen to what I have to say there's so little time and so many things get entangled and snared and the drumming starts in the head, a buzzing of anxiety and a ringing of the dinner bell of death, death's meal, your soul, which may never transmigrate at all but simply fester in some infinite creature's belly with pork and beans and start fermenting and oh the smells, and is that your high school science teacher in there with the bad breath and the coffee stained shirt and the glasses that were not the right size, but it was hard to tell if they were too large or too small or if you just wanted to change the size of their head during your brief stay in their classroom, and the stench of the fermenting souls and other rotting fruits inside the belly of this Endless creature's tummy, assuming death even eats your soul, this is not even confirmed even though the amount of time that is thought about death is more prevalent than any thought about science or truth and we still don't know what happens when we die but please let me get this thought out, just this one last thing, please, please, PLEASE!

Creativity

Creativity, is, as they say, hmm are there any sayings on creativity? Probably not. Scratch that.

Stop wasting time

Stop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting timeStop wasting t

Particles

If you are concerned about people washing their hands after they poop, then the midriff area of people's clothes are a complete no-fly zone, as there are currently no sinks that you can reach while still sitting on the toilet.

Swat

So there I am in an airplane bathroom furiously masturbating to the last great thing I had done, a bait and switch at the airport McDonald's where I ordered a small fries and took an entire family's order instead, the grease acting as a putrid, industrial lube, fresh with old stink, the garbage pail variety of foodstuff that best resembles an alien's guess at what human food should be; and I'm still here, masturbating with ardor, pumping my little Tony the Tiger, named after the stripe in the middle, that odd orangeish circle that I swear is from the time I jerked off with a Doritos bag back when I was fourteen and didn't know that Bugles were not only greasier but left a pleasant corn odor and didn't stain my cock orange permanently, causing a pet name Tony the Tiger to be given by my second wife, who had a vagina that looked like a snake's discarded skin; and I'm still masturbating fervently, starting to run out of adverbs, a classic overthink, thinking about myself thinking instead of trying to get off on my heroic McDonald's deed and a history of cock nicknames, there are others, but I need not list them here, lest I delay this any longer, lest we find ourselves careening into a dark hole of dirty dead-end prostitutes who promise a clean orgasm for $30, who swear they normally don't do this type of thing, they are in trade school, they are in town visiting their parents, they have hospital bills that need paying off; no need for them to be here, instead there's me, masturbating with fury, not overthinking it, masturbating to my own masturbation, climbing up my limbic system, waltzing into the medulla; I'm fucking my brain, I'm fucking my brain, and then, like a fly getting swatted against a wall, there is a heartbreaking noise followed by a tiny sense of shame and a stain on the wall that someone else will have to deal with.

Spaghetti

So there I was, a 23-year old Swirl, the year 1973, boiling spaghetti and reading Hemingway, the one where the protagonist chooses to eschew emotion and pushes himself through the void of existence using only his swift power. Maybe that was all of them. What's the difference. This is a life I feel has been lived 13 times or more. Slight variations, but always spaghetti, and, well, always cats. Tokyo is a suffocating place to not have a cat. Sometimes I feel like I want to just crawl into a well, though I fear - more than waking up alone in a forever black pit of despair, blacker than the souls of the right wing politicians selling the war machine, blacker than my first cat, who I never bothered to name, blacker even than my shameful whiskey-soddened memories of my ex-wife - that my spaghetti would get cold before I could finish eating it. Or that my bottle of Cutty Sark would break on my journey into the precipice.
As the timer dings, I taste a single strand and add another minute to the clock. The only thing I like that hard boiled is a Chandler novel. I have several.
The phone rings and my mind goes blank.

The Dick Rises

When is black hollywood gonna start co-opting superhero movies? it took them about 15 years to make their 4 weddings and a funeral, so it's about time they caught onto the whole super hero movie bit. Tyler Perry Presents: The Dark Knight

Shit Talk

There's certain things, when you work in an office, that you learn about people that most other people, even their family members, wouldn't know. Like when you take a daily poop next to them with only a 1 inch piece of metal, not connected at the corners, between you. Here's the thing about shit: everybody likes their own brand. So you might wonder about someone, how does he like the food from that shitty chinese place on the corner? Then you smell their shit and realize that this is a smell that person deals with on a daily basis, and perhaps is the same smell the purveyors of the shitty chinese place had in mind when they made the food.

What is love?

Baby don't hurt me

Castor/Pollux

Well well well, if it isn't Minos and Rhadamanthus. How are things going? Hot enough for you? Ha ha... Disingenuine? No, that was a real laugh all right. Well that's just your opinion. Well yeah, I mean hell could totally be cold, too. Hell could be cold for most of the year, but get hot on certain days. Hell could be not turning the heat on unless it's snowing. Hell could be 4 extravagant meals per day, with rest cure in between. Hell could be the absence of a personal bond with almost everyone you live with. Hell could be seeing someone you pity and not being able to stop yourself from becoming just like that person. Hell could be getting used to not getting used to things. Hell could be no religion, no personal possessions, no humanity. Hell could be anonymous and communal. Hell could be using violence as an answer to the unanswerable question. Hell could be never loving someone more than you love yourself. Hell could be loneliness. Hell could be sacrificing your own immortality to save your dying brother. Hell could be the place that all must pass through to reach our potential. Eternity can pass in the blink of an eye. As days become similar, the differentiation between yesterday, today, and tomorrow blurs completely (lest we mention overmorrow). Past, present, and future all become one and we realize that time is mostly noticed by measurements that man created.

Swirly's Soliloquy on Food Lion

What's the deal with Food Lion. I have so many questions. Like: Is this a lion made out of food? Is it just a lion that likes food? Because I think that's all lions. Actually, it's probably one of the most defining characteristics of a lion. That it will eat greedily when given the chance. Now, whether or not the name is redundant or nonsensical, imagine a Food Lion. Would you go around taking food from a lion that is so hungry and food-obsessed that it puts the word food in its name? I'm not sure he (or she) would be very interested in these sorts of transactions. Lions can't do much with money, they mostly just like food. Your favorite scenario, where you go to the Food Lion to buy food, doesn't make any sense. Why would a lion trade off its food for currency. A lion doesn't need a convertible sofa or collectible Pokemon cards. Can you imagine a lion in skinny jeans or driving a Chevy Impala? The horror! He would rather kill an impala and then wear its skin as it runs down your street screaming 'Oo look at me I'm a big bad impala'. An argument could be made that the lion is saving all money to buy up land and create a private savannah, with a state of the art security team to thwart poachers. If he actually tried to retire though, he would never make it. He has created a demand for his food. Now that people need it, they would track him down to his private savannah and demand his food. Where does this leave our lion? Killing the people that made his private savannah dream possible in the first place? Hardly seems moral. But when have lions been moral. Especially a Food Lion guarding his food (and private savannah). This doesn't even touch on the fact that lions don't care much for vegetables and would probably not know anything about choosing a good tomato. Why would I go to him for produce?

This is really taking a lot for granted. More realistically, you would approach said lion for food and he would eat you because you are also food. Ah! Maybe it's somewhere for other lions to go. Perhaps the Food Lion is just a lion that is a master at collecting food and he shares his spoils with his hungry lion friends. This would definitely not make me want to shop. Hungry lions as customers? Food Lion, let me know when you're ready, because I've got some questions.

A Beast for Thee

Hello friends out in cyberspace. How's this look through your fancy new electronic internet browsing device? Smartphone? More like jerkphone am I right? Can I get an amen? No? Why not? Well that's just racist. I should have expected more. What's Swirly up to these days? He inherited the family farm, and has been seen gallivanting with the banker's daughter. Just kidding, his daughter married the banker's son, a rich boy with a strong upbringing I tell you. You should have seen him running through town like a banshee on the night his daughter was born. He flew into the forest like a deer in a rainstorm screaming for god to bring him a son. You see, he had been picturing himself as a sort of King Saul, afraid a Goliath was going to take his land away. His family worked hard for that land. What he needed was a David. Flash-forward through his daughter's miserable life, and see that she had a son called David. Now David was a pretty decent boy, with a penchant for shooting small animals with a little wooden, rubber-sling device. Foreshadowing, right? Well you know how the story goes. Swirly brings the child back to the same place in the forest with a sacrificial lamb and strips away his humanity as he appeals to the lord above to bless him and his David, offering an innocent lamb as a little bargaining tool to be a shoe-in when it comes to the whole farm business. God, being a vegetarian, tells the child to fear Swirly, not that he needed any external coercion. The child runs like the girl at the end of Texas Chainsaw, and sees Swirly chasing after him with the ceremonial blade in his hand. He has a mouth, and he chooses to scream, and then David shoots Swirly square in the head with a rock using his primitive device. Quite funny, huh? What? You read this before? Well did you know that this all took place within a supercomputer? What? Harland Williams from Dumb & Dumber and There's Something About Mary? It's pretty quiet in here with just the two of us. ME and your interior monologue. There's really never any escape from here. You'll just keep reading this, and then thinking your own thoughts. There's never any escape. That's why Kurt Cobain dated that skanky whore for long enough for her to plan his suicide so that he could simultaneously be a martyr and not actually commit the act of suicide, reserving his place at God's throne. That song playing? Well it's over now.

Beau Geste

Bring out the gimp

and c

The author of this so-called "entertainment" (more like samizdat) has taken a break to pursue creating something so entertaining and compelling that it will rip you ass over head right out of this samsara crap. It starts off with a woman walking through a revolving door, her veil gently billowing in her wake. When it ends, Swirly has become mute, almost like a background actor in his own life. With his addiction to the absurd broken, there is a particular shape missing from his personality, screaming to be heard, but sounding only like rehashed episodes of Pokey.
"We must no longer pursue happiness." Or something. The guy who said that threw piss jugs all over the park. No, that was insurance fraud. This is all very literal.

-The Editors

Episode 183: The Shrine / An Argument

shrine
noun \ˈshrīn, especially Southern ˈsrīn\
a : a case, box, or receptacle; especially : one in which sacred relics (as the bones of a saint) are deposited

ar·gu·ment
noun \ˈär-gyə-mənt\
1 obsolete : an outward sign : indication

Did you know that Backstabbers is a song about anal sex? It's been one of the newest findings brought out by archaeologists' new friend, infra-red satellite technology. You see, back in the day, schadenfreude was not invented, so people actually cared for one another. Then, our friend Scheherazade Freude came around telling stories of joy, every night, for several nights. If you think that's wild, imagine our faces when her friend Ziggy Joy came and told us all that we're obsessed with our assholes all because of some asshole who was buried in the desert with a snake up his asshole. It's the kind of asshole move that makes you call into question the validity of previous assholes and their level of assholery. Or it was because of Scheherazade. Dat ass.

Episode 182: Supreme Laziness

So, in the first frame, Swirly and an affable comrade are discussing women's curves, particularly the nates. Being down on their luck, Swirly suggests using a philter. On their way to find a suitable lamb, they come across a building, an old, old building. (They hang out in an occult part of town where you'd expect to find a philter) The story behind the building is long and misunderstood, but Swirly finds that it reminds him of a certain fly girl from In Living Color. The final 10 frames are just Swirly humping the building and calling it various names, asking who its favorite Twilight character is, and finally they attain mutual orgasm. The building floods the town as the potential from man's past is unleashed en masse. The fluid resembles liquid soma and drinking it returns all to ecstatic, creative youth. But then, the building can't stop coming and everyone dies, the end.

Episode 181: Circle Jerk

Freudian analysis would run you down a circular staircase longer than Dante's walk of shame. Extrapolate; interpolate; let's just copulate.

Episode 180: Coming Home

It's just a drawn-out dick joke, trust me.

Episode 179

Is this the end? Was it over when Randy Quaid's missle jammed up? No! He flew that plane to his death and our entertainment. I think there's a lesson for us all there.

Episode 178: Mystery

Starting a game show is a great way to launder money. It's also a great way to distort reality and enable strange personal fantasies.

Episode 177: LSD Soundsystem

Scalpers buy tickets like hens lay eggs. It's just what they do. Ever since the government subsidized corn and bought land in exchange for buffalo, Native Americans have been forced into a life of crime, mostly by selling event tickets at exorbitant prices. Hate the game, not the player.

Episode 176: Back to the Future

We sort of left our friend right in the middle of a situation a couple of days ago. We know this happens a lot, but we're just following orders. In this rancid rote, Swirly takes on a nerve amplifier the same way Ken Jennings took on Watson. Later, Swirly comes back to the present and bests Watson at his own game by dominating the personal story round.

Episode 175: Future Backfire

Presented here is a storyboard for an ancient movie. The production values are very poor, even for a time before the advent of controlled fire.

Episode 174: Stupid, Robot

The synapsifier needed a human tester. Preferably one with little to no intelligence. Enter Swirly.

Episode 173: Paint Me a Poem

There's something to be said about a machine that totally fails at its main function. That thing that should be said is this: Those machines will be progenitors of the next kind of art: The pain and suffering of a literal infinite loop of failure.

Episode 172: The Meat Grinder

So sick of these one note acts. Mix them all together and you get something worse than meatloaf. Wrap that in bacon and cover it with ketchup, however, and you've got something edible.

Episode 171: Pretty Love Machine

Swirly may get angry or hurt, but he is not one for grudges, as they require a dedication to hate. He'd rather forgive and forget. However, sometimes the only way to make things right is with a pantomime gun fight.

SHOULD I?

Episode 170: Parody parody parody

If some dunce made a comic about Swirly's life, it would probably be called Comic Comic (minus the comedy).

Episode 169: Inspiration

Swirly's land is a modern utopia of sorts, if you believe this isn't still a delusion and he's not still locked in that cabin of dread.

Episode 168: Technique

Watch a modern mastur at work.

reminder

this is to remind me to upload the new ones
and to post this video

Happy New Year!

sorry this is just so awesome...lol @ brock saying "for reals?"




Expect more Swirl in your 2011. Or perhaps something new.



improvisation 1/2/11
BT00060G by coreyboland

A Merry Christmas

two improvised tunes from yesterday:


BT00050G by coreyboland



BT00053G by coreyboland

Happy Holidays!

you can thank me later

Episode 167: Try a Little

Swirly shows a daringly soft side in this modern romance caught in progress at a side street night club. The frame is cut off on the bottom, but rest assured that zombies tear out everyone's brains and spread intestines all over the sidewalk. It's Shakespeare.

Apologies for the British Accent

Apologies, this is the worst bunch yet. Total rubbish. Cheers!

Episode 166: Swirly's Record Review: Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest

First in a series where Swirly tastefully reviews music. It's a really easy way to push these babies out!

Episode 165: Dog Emperor of Poon

This one is like a choose your own adventure book. Or Tom Hanks' concept idea in Big. Extra! Extra! Read all about it! I don't get it.

Episode 164: We All Die Sleeping

I was as bored transcribing it as you were briefly glancing at it.

Episode 163: Phantom Limb

Here's a deleted scene from the Swirly movie that actually caused a global meltdown.

But wait, there's more!

Loyal fans, apologies for the recent delay. A recent run-in with ancient manuscripts called the Dune Series has prevented the editors from transcribing more cave paintings. We think, however, that this recent excavation will provide new insight into the workings of the cycle of life and death some call samsara. Expect exciting new journeys into the unknown, plus poop jokes!!

Episode 162: I Should've Been Prepared for this...

If I flipped it around so that Utah was the right shape, the text would all be backwards. Decisions, decisions...

Science is a hulahoop, tonight we're gonna fly

"Jesus shaved his hair off, Muhammad dropped his drawers, and Krishna cracked a smile when Durga walked in through the door."

Episode 161: Alignment

Few know the true story of Vladimir N. Rubik. Originally brought to this country from a remote civilization, the mad cannibal locked all of our minds forever, sealed inside of some plastic cube. Not really, he's just some dick who made some gay toy.

Episode 160: Arrangements

Now here's one I can sink my teeth into!

Episode 159: Ozarks

I had to do a wikipedia search to find out what the Ozarks were. Read about their Traditional economic activity. Pretty soon you'll be reading this comic, thinking about Vickers, about Gordon Wood, not even seeing the Lion staring in your face.

Episdoe 158: Ice-Tea

The market was too saturated, so this puppy had to wring out. The market cannot handle the truth. Right, Tom Cruise?

Saturating the Market

I had to make one today that was mildly coherent.

Episode 157: Broken Music Scene

And this is modern music criticism?

Episode 156: The Scariest Thing

This one isn't so scary. It's more of a boner.

Episode 155: Decomposition

This one is kind of a let down considering the title. Analyze that one.

Episode 154: The Shit Abyss (Shitubus)

We couldn't use a picture of M@$#@#^$ so this happened. So what if Malkmoose has a ^#%$@!#% on his &^%!#%^ and like likes to get it %$#&$%*$**$$%. Vincent Van Gogh was a great man and never molested any deaf kids.

Episode 153: Dancing Zombie Moan

Arrested wouldn't dare attack Swirly, even if he thought of a joke for the show. There's a level of standards that most men won't cross.

Episode 152: Cavreturn

Cavitron was developed by *gasp* the federal government to eliminate cavities and secure the border, funded by the underwhelmingly wealthy dentists' lobby. Since the government developed it, it was inherently homosexual and desired to be as far up your ass as possible. Hope this helps.

Episode 151: Too Soon?

Na.

Episode 150: CAVITRON

Fuck DICKS. Open wide for the cavity man.

Coming Soon

New comics, starting, obviously, with #150 will be posted shortly. The 147a-149c epic will be mail only, sorry. This enhances the mystique and transience of the medium! HA!

01100111011011110010000001100110011101010110001101101011001000000111100101101111011101010111001001110011011001010110110001100110

GOING ROGUE

Swirly is GOING ROGUE!
If you would like to receive the next comic, send Swirly your home address and he might mail it to you via the Pony Express. Don't mention this to Corey, I'm doing it behind his back. swirlyinforcer@gmail.com

Episode 146: When Keeping it Reel-to-Reel Goes Wrong

Here's another classic example of taking a decent idea and squandering it. Also this scanned in really light, you gotta squint to see that the last frame says boners. there i gave away the ending. it's boners.

Episode 145: Devotion

Devotion. Dedication. You might think there's a theme going. Nope. Purely coincidence. You think anyone actually moderates this comic? I (call me HAL¹) got a warehouse full of these things and there's a big lottery ticket barrel we spin each day. Well not each day, but whenever one of us rises up to the surface. They say brevity is the soul of wit.






¹see, a human would have come up with something more clever

Episode 144: Disaster

I could go for some more guac & granny porn. May have some NSFW material.
fuck it's Dedication After Disaster. well it's okay if you read them in vertical order. Now that's some serious

Dedication.

Episode 143: Dedication

Narcissism is a form of...

mwahahahahaha

ok so the story behind this one is i was lying supine on the couch and the fucking kmd album has a fixed groove at the end and it just kept spinning and spinning, so i resigned and took a picture with my phone; wait, this isn't a blog: we'll save it for the making-of documentary that Sudhir Venkatesh is making.
edit: Sudhir if you ever see this, you're the man.

Episode 142: William Fucker

This is from the blooper reel of Swirly: The Movie. A slight anachronism and the movie's release being Good Friday prevented this one from making the screen. That's all.

Episode 141: Tony Cock's Pro Assboarder

nothing....
nothing....
nothing....
nothing.....
comic.

Episode 140: 12/25/2XXX

Fuckin a', man. Swirly adheres to no schedule of holidays. Swirlidays. That was dumb. I made that part up. Sorry. I think there's a tree in there somewhere...

Episode 139: The Movie Preview

Prepare to get the living hunt fucked outta you!

Episode 138: Episode 138

This is my cold discovery

Episode 137: BAAAAAAA

Gotta get to Burning Man, man. The desert. It's like God's grundle.

Episode 136: Methville

Days go by and I'm still high...