Well I mean what was the Vatican up to in the 40’s?

“Brass” “woodwind” and “Percussion” were the clinical anatomy textbook words and “horn” “wind” and “drum” were the casual everyday words.

If I understand correctly, it was produced by and broadcast on HBO, and then broadcast on PBS a week later. I guess the number 4 and the letter T weren’t paying the bills.

Another trumpeter here. If it was a wind instrument that didn’t have a reed it was called a horn.

The Jim Henson Company was excellent at that. They always approached young audiences with respect above all. That’s how Sesame Street works.

Speaking of which, I saw that HBO was pulling out of their deal with Sesame Street. Should we organize like a fundraising drive for that? The idea of Big Bird being off the air…isn’t okay.

drunken blinking at the camera

Which was absolutely the right call. If I can borrow a line from Jay Bauman, Ebenezer Scrooge does not sanction this buffoonery. In his eyes (at the beginning of the story at least) hanging decorations and singing and playing and such make everyone looks ridiculous to him.

The whole goddamn story is about Scrooge being a man who takes himself too goddamn seriously.

I think the phrase “culture industry” is already the point where it’s gone off the rails.

One of several parts of the Blue Man Group’s Complex Rock Tour was poking fun at the contradiction in terms that is “the music industry.” That something which is meant to be human and intangible is churned out on an assembly line like kitchen appliances.

That sounds like a dope ass Christmas! Enjoy!

oh yes the “I’ve starved all the way to death twice since breakfast this morning I’ve never eaten in my life won’t you find it in your heart to feed the poor starving kitty” yowl.

*you’re

Push enough soldering irons up enough urethras and this’ll stop. Dealer’s choice on when during this process to plug in the iron.

The chief pilot at the flight school I worked for used to say “Let’s go commit a few counts of aviation.”

No it isn’t.

Her Royal Majesty Queen Isabella Greypelt (the vet calls her Izzy) is just the friendliest cat. She loves people almost as much as she loves attention. If you want a grey cat in your lap come hang out on my couch, it’ll happen. If two people are on my couch she’ll sit in between so both can pet her. She’s as social as she is monochromatic, space heater notwithstanding.

She’ll also tear the earth in half and expose the molten core if I miss her dinner time, so everybody feel thankful this holiday season that I stocked up on Fancy Feast.

My elderly spayed cat just…likes loafing on my chest with her ass in my face. My belly is soft on her elbows I think. I tend to aim her holes over my shoulder though. Or turn on my side and then she loafs on my leg. Hang on, she wants me to turn on the space heater for her.

There. Kitty toasting machine activated.

The “women just can’t handle how little it takes to make men happy” genre of shitposting.

Edit: I once saw it phrased as “A shut-in with with one chair, a ps4 and the clothes he’s worn since high school might be the most energy efficient of us all” and I struggle to argue with that.

Once, in the movie Day After Tomorrow:

“Guys, there’s a whole section on tax law down here that we can burn.”

My father would endlessly yap about his retirement plan and 401k and all shit like that, as if the US Dollar is going to still be a currency in circulation in 2030.

Here I’m used to it being “TV on the floor in front of a recliner in an otherwise unfurnished apartment” kind of thing.