(Source: thorinium, via americanapparel)

A scene during rush hour recently in nyc.

I got a call from this weird phone number and was like, aw shit. It’s da aliens. That’s not a real phone number, it’s aliens. Gotta pick up. I picked up and it was my mom. But what if that’s how aliens decide to make first contact? By impersonating your mom through an iPhone? I’m unconvinced I didn’t speak to aliens because that’s a weird ass phone number.

How are you?


I’ve just watched 31 minutes of the pilot episode of Lindsay, the Lindsay Lohan Oprah docuseries on OWN, and I’ve yet to find anything bad about it. It’s perfect.

There’s a recurring Portlandia joke I really like where they have a writer of Pitchfork review a band that transcends music, so the writer makes a realization to the Pitchfork staff like, “We did it. everything that can be said in music has now been said. I think we’re done. We can shut the site down.”

I feel like everything that can be said about celebrities and reality tv shows has now been said through this Oprah vehicle. Lindsay is like the car Oprah is giving the world.

All the gossip bloggers, the gossip rags, E!, celebrities themselves… everyone. We can all can stop talking about celebrities. I think we’re done. Oprah did it.

If late.
So tired.

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