Goddamn Hippies

Fucking blogs, I tell you.

This gig at Ask is very much akin to shopping at a dirt-floor flea-market: there are pockets of magic in amongst the outright contemptible bullshit, sometimes, but there are also many instances in which the individual knickknacks get washed out in a gigantic void of bland nothingness. I’ve said it before, but I haven’t been back long enough for some of our new readers, so I’ll say it again: I need electricity. I need cartoon sound-effects and desensitizing madness and monstrous lunacy and synapses pulsing and pounding and short-circuiting and flash and dazzle and spite and venom and raw nerves and exposed viscera and gleeful chaos. I’m not talking blog-preference here, either – these are things, in life, that I need.

Surprisingly, I find that very few of the above-mentioned necessities are checked off my list whilst perusing flea-markets, and even fewer browsing the streams of tepid shit that roll through here like piddling rivulets of urine sinking into the ground before ever reaching open water. At least there’s a sardonic appeal to purchasing a single typewriter-key, or fifteen ALF comic-books for a quarter; there’s absolutely nothing alluring about the vast majority of blogs darkening the blogosphere, and a huge percentage of the interweb-abled population should be dragged from their computers and beaten mercilessly with a canvas bag full of live, rabid mice until they took the hint and got themselves outside for a breath of fresh air, if even for once in their miserable, misbegotten lives.

Which brings us to the now: Louie Pit Bull (and Ollie Beagle) is a rotten, disgraceful pile of rancid trash that stains my eyes with its torrential drivel... or it should be, had it followed the premise I painstakingly set up for this review. In reality, however, it’s not half-bad. Oh, don’t think I didn’t try to find an angle, some little loophole I could slip through to tear into it with both hands, because I did – no, the guy is just too affable for me to genuinely dislike, and despite the countless strikes against the blog itself (typical, standard blogger-template, mind-numbing widgets along the sidebar, a general lack of direction in the writing, to name a few), I’ve gotten through more of it than I thought I would.

He’s a guy who’s just talking, hanging out, passing along random thoughts and detailing events as they happen, enjoying himself and his life more often than not, and, hey, all right; I don’t really have it in me to fault the guy for his sunny outlook. I can, however, call him on his emoticon-usage, a practice that teeters on the borderline between merely appalling and maniacally irresponsible, so it all evens out, in my mind.

At the end of the day, he’s all peace, love and Beethoven, whereas I’m all spite, rage and pointy things. Suffice it say, we were never destined to mill about in converging circles, though it must also be said that I would certainly try to avoid hitting him if he fell down in front of my car… and if that isn’t a fucking compliment, I don’t have any idea what you people are expecting from me.



It’s not terrible, but if it doesn’t jump down my throat and fry my pancreas, I’m probably not going to be too keen. Also, dude, Aqua Teen Hunger Force? Watch it all – you’re won’t be disappointed.

Seriously. Don't believe me? Okay, fine - have another star:



But that's just between you and me, all right? Don't go bragging to your friends about getting the "two-star" treatment at Ask or I swear to all that is holy that I will be literally angry with rage.