March 18, 2004

Quisiéramos señalarle hacia este ejemplo brillante del artículo peor de la historia del periodismo. Inmundicia absoluta. Hace que preguntamos nuestra decisión para cubrirse en anonimato y el fango de la honda para libre. Snark del snark de Snark. Nosotros, nosotros, nosotros. Somos un perdedor tan sassy. Aspiramos los huevos del burro.

Posted by LCPLEG at 2:15 PM | Comments (3)

Las cucarachas entran pero no pueden salir. Somos muy enfermos en la cabeza. Somos peligrosos y violentos. Somos muy borrachos. ¿Nuestro sarcasmo enmascara nuestra impotencia? En toda la probabilidad.

¿Además, qué usted piensa se significa por "la caída de menor importancia, la elevación principal"?

Posted by LCPLEG at 10:52 AM | Comments (13)

Algunas cosas que usted debe saber sobre nosotros: Somos un alcohólico desesperado. También, somos un drogadicto hambriento. Tenemos fixations orales insaciables. Incluso fixations nasales. Tenemos gusto a las cosas del snort. Para aspirar cosas. Para comer, beber, inhalar. Para consumir. Tenemos fantasías extrañas el implicar de muchachas literarias muy minúsculas. Nosotros masturbate de la lata todo el dia. Gozamos de pornografía como un niño gordo tenemos gusto de la torta. Somos alegre irónicos. Somos destructivos nos jactamos. Es todo sobre nuestro uso ritual del real nosotros. ¿Indica la presencia de personalidades múltiples? Lo más assuredly posible tan.

Posted by LCPLEG at 09:22 AM | Comments (11)
March 17, 2004

Somos así que bebido no podemos ver. Cuando somos éste bebidos, conseguimos todos violentos y enojado y deseamos a veces morir. Pensamos que odiamos la gente negra y la gente del gay. Somos excusas desgraciadas para un escritor. Estamos perdiendo la pista de todo este uso del plural. Envíe por favor la ayuda. Esto no es una broma.

Posted by LCPLEG at 11:08 AM | Comments (3)

Franco, usted podría hacer peor que traducir todo este absurdo. ¿Usted no realiza que los escritores muy listos que están construyendo esta broma son solamente modesto competentes en su lengua materna del inglés? No pueden manejar posiblemente español también. Acaban de encadenar junto un cierto bullshit y lo han traducido a través del Internet. El resultado, probable, no debe ser entendido. No obstante, debemos repetir que nos beben, nosotros deseamos morir, y tenemos gusto de burros.

Frankly, we don't remember when we started speaking Spanish, but lately it's been difficult to keep up with all the myriad personalities which Sybilly* occupy our brainpan, thus necessitating our irksome self-plurality. So, we welcome this new queso-con-salsa self to our Herman's Head of already-elbows-bumping personalities: the snarky gadfly exposing magazine hackwork with the bitchy sass of the O.C.'s Summer; the self-serving, self-loathing, spiritually bankrupt dipsomaniac; and the circle-jerking blogger brat who engages in fetishistic hyperlinking with our peer circle-jerkees (-jerkers?).

While sort of on the topic, it should be said that, while the multiple personalities accounts for our psychotic use of the Royal We, our loathsome behavior can be attributed to the aggregate sum of alcoholism, bipolarity, schizophrenia, O.C.D., and old-fashioned syphilitic dementia.

Now that that's all cleared up, please read this example of the worst article in the history of journalism, courtesy New York Magazine. Then read these ten column inches of pidgin English from the Gray Lady. And here's some prizewinning horseshit from the Observer. Some days, we swear, there's so much vomit put to print, it makes us question our crank-fueled decision to shroud ourselves in anonymity and urinate all over our colleagues. Then we lock and unlock our front door 112 times to keep the demons at bay.

*We almost went with "Three-Faces-of-Eve-ly"

Posted by LCPLEG at 010:31 AM | Comments (3)
March 16, 2004

We offer mock-humble apologies for our posting so tardily this morning. We usually don't like to brag about our stratospheric stupidity but we've made new inroads. Last night, we systematically disemboweled a wild boar while swigging bathtub gin from a unlabelled bottle after reading the collected works of Wittgenstein. Afterward, we picked up a little Chinese for dinner (i.e. a four-foot-tall man from Beijing), and then got so mind-numbingly drunk that we mistook a rough trick named Jim for our mother and fell asleep in his burly arms.

Needless to say, we're a little off-balance today. In the meantime, we've seen fit to separate some of the journalistic wheat from its chaff and present it for you. We'd tell you which was good and which was bad, but merely speaking our name this morning makes us want to curl up in a ball and cry for our days as an altar boy. [Link courtesy: whatfore ]

Posted by LCPLEG at 3:12 PM | Comments (7)

Humble apologies for not posting yesterday; we took a personal day (read: Oedipal issues), and since we only devote effort to this endeavor on our employer's blind dime, we decided to spend our free time stalling the throes of dementia by attending to some domestic chores. While we confess we're generally loathe to post such slapdash lists in place of carefully constructed sentences, please consider that we sprained our wrist in a masturbatory experiment, and less typing on our part would be appreciated.

Anyway, how we spent our "sick day":

  • reupping on Zoloft, Prozac, Levitra, lithium, leeches.

  • watching 7 hours of VH1 with the sound muted, scored only by the echo of our gentle sobs

  • What About Bob?-like phone call to our vacationing psychotherapist to confess maladjusted passion for diminutive, married women

  • Six hours Photoshopping ourselves into downloaded pictures of the Littlest Groom's would-be brides.

  • Tried to invent new ways of violating our own orifices with what household sundries are at hand (in the process, wound up crafting some punny euphemisms for anal insertion)

    Posted by LCPLEG at 09:22 AM | Comments (3)
  • March 15, 2004

    And, likewise, we are too creatively barren to provide any original content today, so we instead gently nudge you toward the incestuous ring of blogs with whom we engage in thrice-daily hyperlink flirtation. Though our black heart is no bigger than an olive pit, we really love our blogospheric colleagues with all the maudlin pathos of a Molly Ringwald flick.

    No. We hates the bloggerses. They're thieves! They're filthy little thieves! Where is it? They stole it from us! Our precious! Our precious snarky bullshit! Curse them! We hates them! It's ours it is, and we wants it!


    Fat, stupid bloggerses. We hates them. We wants it, we needs it. Must have the precious. They stoles it from us. Sneaky little bloggerses. Wicked, tricksy, false!

    They’re my friends!

    We don’t have any friends. Nobody likes us!

    We're not listening, We're not listening.

    We're a liar, and a thief!



    Go away.

    Go away? Ha ha ha…

    We hate you. We hate you.

    Where would we be without us? Gollum, Gollum. We saved us. It was us. We survived because of us!

    Not anymore…

    What did you say?

    Master looks after us now, we don’t need you


    Leave now, and never come back.


    Leave now, and never come back! Leave, now, and never come back! We told him to go away, and away he goes precious! Gone, gone, gone, Smeagol’s free!

    Look, look, see what Smeagol finds? Ha ha ha…They are young, they are tender they are nice, yes they are! Eat them, eat them!

    Posted by LCPLEG at 09:22 AM | Comments (160)