Oh You Want Some.

(Getty Images Photo)

OK so you all may just be completely fucked. Until blogger allows me to upload my photographs I'm afraid we have to content ourselves with pictures of boy ass. Oh well I think we'll live. I do have a fascinating photograph of a Shell gasoline billboard that I took the other night. I'm sure you've seen something like it. I wouldn't necessarily call it outsider art. My tortilla casserole is outsider art. Which reminds me that I need to buy a casserole dish.

And I can't be sure but I think someone in the office has written something terribly mean on the break room chalkboard. It's the Yankees logo with an image of a broom somewhere to the right with an arrow of all things pointing to the Yankee logo. I can't be positive what they're getting at, but I think I may have an idea. If it's that nasty business is Colorado then they're just wasting their time because I've already decided that I'm not even going to address the subject. That's what I do with things that displease me. I ignore them. I'm a lot like an annoying poodle in that respect, but I have elevated it to an art form. Best to move on really. Although it bears mentioning that poor RoRo got a bloody nose last night. He had to play the bases with this gob of tissue in his nose and blood all over his blouse. It was unseemly.

Compadre and I spoke at length last night. Primarily about a shop in Little Tokyo which may or may not be a Pop Killer but nonetheless houses one of the freshest hoodies he's ever seen. No label, no literature, but a price tag. This intrigues me. I heard recently that authenticity is quickly becoming the new brand identity and that labels generally are losing relevance. Although slowly. Reconstructing consumer consciousness takes a great deal of time in the absence of an Earnest Save Christmas movie.

Still nothing on my Comme des Fuckdown jersey which is distressing me.