It’s Saturday and it’s real nice out and all that, but I can’t think of a place I’d rather be than right here, catching up on all the badness. Just me and the building. Nakamoto just left to go fishing. Leigh and Ewan are going to the see the Jonas Brothers tonight, and that’ll be the last time those little teenyboppin’ dicksquirts are mentioned on this blog.

The image above is one of many things I’ve seen and instantly thought, “This one is for Minneapolis Mike Davis.”

Get a (down)load of that thing! From a milk carton of all things! Nowadays, when I have cereal, I’m staring down some shit-ass little cow. Where the fuck did we go wrong with all the graphics, big world? A question that punches me in the face when I find something like this out there.

That milk carton was picked up, dusted off, shot, and put right back in the place I found it, in the garage of what proved to be the most intense estate sale I’ve been to in a long, long time. I wish Dale and Jess could’ve seen that mess in the basement. Full report on Monday, friends.

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SETTLE DOWN, TRUCKERS: Yesterday’s Layer Tennis match, like everyone I’ve ever been in, proved to challenging on the mind, mouse finger and spirit. Hubacek proved to be a formidable little gremlin, and came at me with a big, dripping dose of my own goddamn medicine. And man, a day later, the wounds are still oozing! But I think I gave that little Hubapod a good run for this money! He rattled the DDC schtick pretty good.

But hey, this schtick ain’t some passin’ fad, it’s my fuckin’ life! My dilemma.

Thanks to everyone who wrote in, and for each and every vote on the Layer Tennis Twitter deal.