Twitter has killed more people than Hitler.
Twitter have killed more people than Adolf Hitler
Looks like Twitter has now killed more people than Hitler
Really Twitter, really? You killed more people than Hitler.
At this Rate Twitter will Kill more than Hitler Ever Managed
Dear Twitter, you kill more people than Hitler!
twitter, you kill more people than hitler did.
Dam I sware twitter kill more people than HITLER
Forget Hitler... Twitter is more ambitious...
Twitter has successfully managed to kill more people than Hitler.
Twitter Tryna Kill more people then Hitler!
twitter is tyna beat Hitler's kill-death ratio
Twitter's on pace to kill more people than Hitler!
Twitter kill more people that Hitler
Twitter kill more people than Hitler did
Twitter kill more people then hitler...
Dear Twitter, you kill more people than Hitler!
Twitter obvs is trying to kill as many people as Hitler
Really Twitter, really? You kill more ppl then hitler did lol
Yall kill more people than Hitler... jeeze twitter
twitter likes to kill off more people than hitler...
Twitter Kill More People Than Hitler, Aids and Justin Bieber....
I think twitter can kill more people than hitler.
"Pretty Flowers"
“Pretty Flowers” as, on the one hand, poetry reduced to its bare minimum—not a form, not even a contextual frame, but a mode of address. Just the act of speaking in public about things that are, not exactly private or personal, but certainly not public. As if Gabby Gabby has accidentally stood up in front of a room full of people expecting a political speech and not only does she not have anything prepared to say she’s not even running for any office, so this is what she comes up with on the spot, and there’s a sense of a high-wire act, of having to keep the audience distracted every second with nothing but breeziness and charm so that they don’t start asking questions, who is this person, how’d she get in here, why is her font pink? Like flirting your way through a lion’s den.
On the other hand, “Pretty Flowers” as quietly resonant with a literary tradition and engaged with some concept of nation, of a nation and in particular the United States as something too big but simultaneously essential to the self. The wish to go to every state fair, the half-forgotten song with the names of all fifty states, the split in the middle of Michigan, the identity and difference of Williamsburg VA and Williamsburg Brooklyn—all of these are like a frustrated desire to own one of Whitman’s epic catalogues, wanting “I am large, I contain multitudes” but instead feeling, “I am small, multitudes are only an abstract concept in my experience.” The vegan fantasy of a corndog, the fake Jefferson with his hand on her shoulder, the cut flowers (a picture of a picture on the book’s cover, which isn’t really a cover but the electronic representation of a cover for a book that isn’t a “real” book and isn’t really about flowers)—all like Stevens’s “not a bird for me / But the name of a bird.”
And everything—the sense of representation as frustrated presence, nation as frustrated extension of self, poetry as frustrated conversation—comes down in the end to the desire for personal connection irl, the wish to replace the poem with OK Cupid messages like O’Hara’s wish to replace the poem with a phone. The poet (and the Poet, in the abstract) finally coming clean and admitting that she doesn’t care about the audience (who could love an audience?), that the audience is just a means to an end, a medium to reach the person—she doesn’t need to know who—who’s going to answer back.
On the other hand, “Pretty Flowers” as quietly resonant with a literary tradition and engaged with some concept of nation, of a nation and in particular the United States as something too big but simultaneously essential to the self. The wish to go to every state fair, the half-forgotten song with the names of all fifty states, the split in the middle of Michigan, the identity and difference of Williamsburg VA and Williamsburg Brooklyn—all of these are like a frustrated desire to own one of Whitman’s epic catalogues, wanting “I am large, I contain multitudes” but instead feeling, “I am small, multitudes are only an abstract concept in my experience.” The vegan fantasy of a corndog, the fake Jefferson with his hand on her shoulder, the cut flowers (a picture of a picture on the book’s cover, which isn’t really a cover but the electronic representation of a cover for a book that isn’t a “real” book and isn’t really about flowers)—all like Stevens’s “not a bird for me / But the name of a bird.”
And everything—the sense of representation as frustrated presence, nation as frustrated extension of self, poetry as frustrated conversation—comes down in the end to the desire for personal connection irl, the wish to replace the poem with OK Cupid messages like O’Hara’s wish to replace the poem with a phone. The poet (and the Poet, in the abstract) finally coming clean and admitting that she doesn’t care about the audience (who could love an audience?), that the audience is just a means to an end, a medium to reach the person—she doesn’t need to know who—who’s going to answer back.
can't believe
can’t believe that marvel deciding they were done
telling some stories with spider woman for a while
had her die and decide to make every one forget her
only to wind up being found
alive and a ghost and every one who knew her
still having memory problems.
though glad marvel did not let spider woman stay dead.
telling some stories with spider woman for a while
had her die and decide to make every one forget her
only to wind up being found
alive and a ghost and every one who knew her
still having memory problems.
though glad marvel did not let spider woman stay dead.
Penance Stare
Batman is just a ritch guy
with martial arts and baterangs,
until he turns into a vampire
Vampire batman vs. ghost rider would be good
GR vs regular batman
would be like hulk vs my grandma!
Id like to see GR vs. Vampire batman,
That would be baaaaaad!
WELL WHY DON'T YOU CREATE IT
Im out of it tonite, thats why i havent thought of that
i dont even know where im at
somebody shoot me
with martial arts and baterangs,
until he turns into a vampire
Vampire batman vs. ghost rider would be good
GR vs regular batman
would be like hulk vs my grandma!
Id like to see GR vs. Vampire batman,
That would be baaaaaad!
WELL WHY DON'T YOU CREATE IT
Im out of it tonite, thats why i havent thought of that
i dont even know where im at
somebody shoot me
Pumpkin Jokes.pdf
after Horse_ebooks
Q: What's the ratio of a pumpkin's circumference to its diameter?
A: Pumpkin Pi
Q: How do you mend a broken Jack-o-lantern?
A: With a pumpkin patch!
Q: What's black, white, orange, and waddles?
A: A penguin with a jack-o-lantern.
Q: What's black, white, orange, and waddles?
A: A penguin with a jack-o-lantern.
Q: What's the ratio of a pumpkin's circumference to its diameter?
A: Pumpkin Pi
Q: How do you mend a broken Jack-o-lantern?
A: With a pumpkin patch!
Q: What's black, white, orange, and waddles?
A: A penguin with a jack-o-lantern.
Q: What's black, white, orange, and waddles?
A: A penguin with a jack-o-lantern.
somewhat funny yet IT COMPLEATLY SUCKED
damn rip off embarrassed to have watched it sucks hard!
people im sure you would be thirty years old and still watch dragon ball z gt instead of this.
stay away at all cost of future eye cleaning
people im sure you would be thirty years old and still watch dragon ball z gt instead of this.
stay away at all cost of future eye cleaning
whatever
Yeah this isn't even a question.
But, I wanna have like
literally erry'day.
I look at porn erry'day.
Like
i'm 16 year old female,
but whatever.
But, I wanna have like
literally erry'day.
I look at porn erry'day.
Like
i'm 16 year old female,
but whatever.
Queen of England
for me you are the Queen of England noisyboyz;
because for me this people are true strangers.
great!
because for me this people are true strangers.
great!
Henchmen
Tee Hee Johnson
Baron Samedi
Whisper
Adam
Rosie Carver
Charlie Francis
Pratik Patel
Small force of footsoldiers in red teeshirts and black trousers
Baron Samedi
Whisper
Adam
Rosie Carver
Charlie Francis
Pratik Patel
Small force of footsoldiers in red teeshirts and black trousers
Kananga
Kananga is Mister Big, the Bond Villain of "Live and Let Die".
To the general public, he is Kananga, a humble dignatary and ambassador of Arice. But in reality, he is Mister Big, a drug lord.
When he kills an MI6 Agent, Bond is assigned to defeat him.
His Easily Escapable Death Trap consists of throwing Bond in a lak full of crocodiles.
His henchmen are: Baron Samedi (a voodoo sorcerer) and Tee Hee Johnson (a man with a metal claw in his left arm).
Bond kills him by injecting him with an air pump, making him blow up until he explodes.
To the general public, he is Kananga, a humble dignatary and ambassador of Arice. But in reality, he is Mister Big, a drug lord.
When he kills an MI6 Agent, Bond is assigned to defeat him.
His Easily Escapable Death Trap consists of throwing Bond in a lak full of crocodiles.
His henchmen are: Baron Samedi (a voodoo sorcerer) and Tee Hee Johnson (a man with a metal claw in his left arm).
Bond kills him by injecting him with an air pump, making him blow up until he explodes.
i like that shark
human’s are quite stupid, “it looks some kind of a snail shaped fossil”
“NO ITS A SHARK!” they have no further proof.
“NO ITS A SHARK!” they have no further proof.
fuck bags
This song descibes
how i feel.I feel lonely,unaccpeted,sad
usually,and live world full of mean,uneducated
people who are selfish.I feel like outcast.
This is fucking terrible, I hope
the people who made this committed suicide.
How the fuck could you butcher
a great song like this, if I personally see you fucks
I will kill you as slow as possible
And I might kill all you fuck bags who like this
how i feel.I feel lonely,unaccpeted,sad
usually,and live world full of mean,uneducated
people who are selfish.I feel like outcast.
This is fucking terrible, I hope
the people who made this committed suicide.
How the fuck could you butcher
a great song like this, if I personally see you fucks
I will kill you as slow as possible
And I might kill all you fuck bags who like this
A Debate about Boobs
Now I don't wanna get into a debate about boobs
but she hulk is considerably bigger than others.
Shes tall as hell and bigger boobs
wouldn't surprise me.
That's just my observation let's just
admire these very cool breast cancer awareness ads.
but she hulk is considerably bigger than others.
Shes tall as hell and bigger boobs
wouldn't surprise me.
That's just my observation let's just
admire these very cool breast cancer awareness ads.
a horrible horrible mismatch
man.. this is very funny man...
hey guys, i'm an x-men fan before...
and i know what u guys say about wolverine..
and yeah, wolverine can cut mr.fantastic to pieces..
i also know wolverine and how very very taught
and indestructable his ADAMANTIUM skeleton is...
hey to all wolverine fanboys out there..
thanx for supporting wolverine...
BUT..
this is a horrible horrible mismatch here...
i mean this is doom we're talking about..
i'm no newbie either on x-men and fantastic 4 and all the MU..
but man..
dr.doom..
this is fight wolverine has a little chance to win here..
lets face reality man...
yeah wolverine can cut dr.doom's armor..
i'll give u that, he can take a shot to any weapon any heavy hitter can dish out..
but dr.doom is a lot new level here...
this guy, doom, althought defeated by squirrel girl
and MR. FANTASTIC (the smartest man alive)...
w/ out reed, this guy bitchslap GALACTUS, SILVER SURFER, THE BEYONDER...
AND YEAH SON GOKU
( no joke, i've seen son goku defeated
by teleporting him to another time by doom,
no joke man.. there's a site)...
the only thing wolvie get doom's attention
is either on his ADAMANTIUM skeleton and HEALING FACTOR...
man, even magneto pissed his pants on doom..
yeah, in the villains team up..
magneto's superior is dr.doom and althought he they fought..
see what mag's face look like after that...
hey guys, i'm an x-men fan before...
and i know what u guys say about wolverine..
and yeah, wolverine can cut mr.fantastic to pieces..
i also know wolverine and how very very taught
and indestructable his ADAMANTIUM skeleton is...
hey to all wolverine fanboys out there..
thanx for supporting wolverine...
BUT..
this is a horrible horrible mismatch here...
i mean this is doom we're talking about..
i'm no newbie either on x-men and fantastic 4 and all the MU..
but man..
dr.doom..
this is fight wolverine has a little chance to win here..
lets face reality man...
yeah wolverine can cut dr.doom's armor..
i'll give u that, he can take a shot to any weapon any heavy hitter can dish out..
but dr.doom is a lot new level here...
this guy, doom, althought defeated by squirrel girl
and MR. FANTASTIC (the smartest man alive)...
w/ out reed, this guy bitchslap GALACTUS, SILVER SURFER, THE BEYONDER...
AND YEAH SON GOKU
( no joke, i've seen son goku defeated
by teleporting him to another time by doom,
no joke man.. there's a site)...
the only thing wolvie get doom's attention
is either on his ADAMANTIUM skeleton and HEALING FACTOR...
man, even magneto pissed his pants on doom..
yeah, in the villains team up..
magneto's superior is dr.doom and althought he they fought..
see what mag's face look like after that...
this song comes happens
when goku goes Super Sayian
When Gohan goes Ascended Sayian
When Natsu Beats the shit out of Jellal
When Naruto goes into fox cloak and rapes the hell out of Nagato
When Kira brings hell in the battle field with Strike freedom
When Dante gets revenge for people eating his pizza
When Gohan goes Ascended Sayian
When Natsu Beats the shit out of Jellal
When Naruto goes into fox cloak and rapes the hell out of Nagato
When Kira brings hell in the battle field with Strike freedom
When Dante gets revenge for people eating his pizza
you like rabbit monkey
ur just a hater breaking
dawn was perfect the book
was great too sop
hating ur a guy
so you wouldnt like it as much but
dont hate on breaking dawn
unless u want about a million
girls coming and attacking
you like rabbit monkey
im not playin right now
dawn was perfect the book
was great too sop
hating ur a guy
so you wouldnt like it as much but
dont hate on breaking dawn
unless u want about a million
girls coming and attacking
you like rabbit monkey
im not playin right now
Honesty, Self-Indulgence, “selected unpublished blog posts of a mexican panda express employee”
“i like reading things other people might describe as ‘self-indulgent,’” Megan Boyle writes half-way through her selected unpublished blog posts of a mexican panda express employee. “what other people define as ‘self-indulgence’ just seems like honesty to me.” A lot of the time I’d be inclined to agree with her. Plenty of my favorite writers—Ariana Reines, Kendra Grant Malone, Tao Lin—tend toward the kind of confessional honesty that often draws of accusations of self-indulgence.
In the case of selected unpublished blog posts …, though, I’m not so sure. If there’s one thing this book demonstrates, it’s that what makes those writers great isn’t honesty in and of itself. It’s how that honesty reveals powerful, singular personalities, and how their sometimes relentless misery is leavened with wit, aesthetic daring, formal skill—all the subtle little hints of artfulness that say, “Yes, we know you’re reading this, and we care enough to keep you entertained.”
Not that Megan Boyle lacks those kinds of resources. She’s already demonstrated that she can match Tao Lin when it comes to weird, darkly whimsical charisma, and she even shows it occasionally in this book, with charmingly offhand observations like, “if i drop a toothpick i'm pretty sure it will remain where it fell for three days // not sure what happens after that.” That’s enough for a good tweet, and as Spencer Madsen has proven, if you have enough good tweets you can actually make a really good book out of them.
But that’s only if you’re willing to take the tweet—quick, sociable, ingratiating—as your literary model. Instead, Boyle’s model is the more ruminative, less interactive blog post; and not even that, but the unpublished blog post—unmotivated, unfinished, finally unread, the loneliest and least other-oriented internet artifact you can imagine. At times, that extreme inwardness feels genuinely tragic—this is the diary of someone who’s crushed by loneliness but who can’t help “consciously avoiding social interactions.” At other times there are engaging flickers of connection, or at least affecting failures to connect, in particular one scene involving the author and her mother’s differing valuations of Dave Eggers. But for the most part, the book duplicates too literally the tedium and alienation that it depicts, accumulating unvarnished lists of embarrassing personal minutiae as if anything unpleasant were inherently also interesting.
Maybe it’s to Boyle’s credit that she’s pursuing something more private, more in-depth, and arguably truer than the crafted depressive personas of a Madsen or a Lin, but in the end she’s just subtracted the craft and left the depression. That, I want to say, is more honest only in the most reductive sense, in the way that going to the supermarket in your dirty sweats might be “more honest” than pulling on a decent pair of pants first. In art, a minimum of craft isn’t necessarily dissimulation, it’s just courtesy—or better, reciprocation, the gesture through which an author acknowledges her audience as equals. That, to me, is the real difference between honesty and self-indulgence, and confusing the two sets selected unpublished blog posts… off in a well-intentioned, sympathetic, but finally unsatisfying direction.
In the case of selected unpublished blog posts …, though, I’m not so sure. If there’s one thing this book demonstrates, it’s that what makes those writers great isn’t honesty in and of itself. It’s how that honesty reveals powerful, singular personalities, and how their sometimes relentless misery is leavened with wit, aesthetic daring, formal skill—all the subtle little hints of artfulness that say, “Yes, we know you’re reading this, and we care enough to keep you entertained.”
Not that Megan Boyle lacks those kinds of resources. She’s already demonstrated that she can match Tao Lin when it comes to weird, darkly whimsical charisma, and she even shows it occasionally in this book, with charmingly offhand observations like, “if i drop a toothpick i'm pretty sure it will remain where it fell for three days // not sure what happens after that.” That’s enough for a good tweet, and as Spencer Madsen has proven, if you have enough good tweets you can actually make a really good book out of them.
But that’s only if you’re willing to take the tweet—quick, sociable, ingratiating—as your literary model. Instead, Boyle’s model is the more ruminative, less interactive blog post; and not even that, but the unpublished blog post—unmotivated, unfinished, finally unread, the loneliest and least other-oriented internet artifact you can imagine. At times, that extreme inwardness feels genuinely tragic—this is the diary of someone who’s crushed by loneliness but who can’t help “consciously avoiding social interactions.” At other times there are engaging flickers of connection, or at least affecting failures to connect, in particular one scene involving the author and her mother’s differing valuations of Dave Eggers. But for the most part, the book duplicates too literally the tedium and alienation that it depicts, accumulating unvarnished lists of embarrassing personal minutiae as if anything unpleasant were inherently also interesting.
Maybe it’s to Boyle’s credit that she’s pursuing something more private, more in-depth, and arguably truer than the crafted depressive personas of a Madsen or a Lin, but in the end she’s just subtracted the craft and left the depression. That, I want to say, is more honest only in the most reductive sense, in the way that going to the supermarket in your dirty sweats might be “more honest” than pulling on a decent pair of pants first. In art, a minimum of craft isn’t necessarily dissimulation, it’s just courtesy—or better, reciprocation, the gesture through which an author acknowledges her audience as equals. That, to me, is the real difference between honesty and self-indulgence, and confusing the two sets selected unpublished blog posts… off in a well-intentioned, sympathetic, but finally unsatisfying direction.
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