Extra Evil

Extra Evil - Ghosted

Today's Fortune: Whitelist hilarious risk-takers.

Dennard Dayle

19 Feb 2025 — 6 min read

Ditched Substack. Whitelist this to keep the party going. Forgive a double tap announcement from the old address later.

Newsreel

Eric elevated tapeworms everywhere.

Luigi has a fan mail address.

The Inflation Volcano demands more migrants.

JD flew a Red Eye to embarrass you.

Zelensky's mood could be better.

Google renamed the sun the Ball of America.

A Photo

*Signapore Punk* Taken during an amusing layover. Sometimes a cancelled flight works out.

War Journal

My flight got cancelled. I got food poisoning. My host got food poisoning. I fell off a surfboard. I lost my good earbuds. A muscle pulled itself into two muscles.

Reloaded. Just what I needed. Time to play American Roulette.

I had a simple choice. Bail from Substack, or join the White Pride Sports Club they insist on keeping around. Those picky bastards rejected me. Can you believe it? I'm the first person they've met with a decent vertical jump.

Their loss. You should always have a Clarence. They try harder.

Alright, fine. I settled on moving the newsletter some time ago, saw all the complicated knobs and upfront costs, and entered the vortex of cosmic procrastination. I'd love to say I thought things would be alright, and they'd pick sanity over swastikas over time. Nope. I just chucked ice water out of the Titanic with a bucket.

I also got torn between this and Buttondown. I'm pretty sure they're easier in twenty ways, but my goals/pretensions demand a browsable archive and regular sniping of the competition's features. So Ghost won the kumite.

Not everything's set up yet—Ghost still needs time to transfer the finicky bits. I kind of flipped early when SubStack released their "praise Vizier Musk" letter. But SubSpam should thin out in the near future. Thanks for following me this far, it means more than you know.

Anyway, comments work now. Celebrate! Call me pretentious! Talk about the weather! Plan riots!

I learned how weird my job is by explaining it to a landlord. Mostly because it's four weird jobs. I'd just reviewed Sucker Punch, which made the first image to pop up Zack Snyder's fetish factory. They grasped web comedy as well as I grasp quantum physics, so it looked like my fetish factory.

We got the apartment. I guess he liked Emily Browning's look.

Alright, enough meta nonsense. You were promised jokes. Here's one of my better flameouts. The full version of this war journal update.

We met at the skate park, which was a bad sign. Her dog preferred falling off obstacles to walks. After hearing the lamest joke I've ever made ("Never seen that trick before"), she pitched ramen. I, an eternal believer in a free lunch, agreed.

I bragged about that for a week. Then the actual date, and humility, arrived.

To summarize the visual: we looked like bandmates. That would've been a great line, but I'm not that fast. And tonkotsu heaven smelled distracting.

I sat down. She mentioned the microchips in most ramen, and I laughed. She clarified that she wasn't fucking around. This was the only shop in New York with chip-free ramen. Another laugh earned the same response.

It was quality ramen. Why abandon it? I dug in and braced for escalation.

She'd brought a gift! A pin reading "Nice4U," from a campaign she'd worked on. Reportedly. Later searches only brought up an Etsy shop in Germany.

She'd been to an MFA too! But they'd stolen her ideas, to make the Transformers series. Films from our teens, adapting cartoons predating our birth. I asked about the timeline.

"Doesn't matter. They tried to sterilize me, to keep me quiet."

"Oh."

"You didn't get the jab, did you?"

I confessed. FDA poison was in me. Our love couldn't be.

"Well, there's a cure."

Shit.

Here, I learned something about literature. I'd seen Hunter S. Thompson talk about "the fear." But I'd never really felt it. Now his work came alive. I ate faster.

The cure, purportedly, was a combination of roots and unfluoridated water. In ample supply at her place. Including, I could only assume, the finest chip-free drugs.

"All-natural. Unlike this trans stuff."

There it was. The modern lunatic free space, unprovoked. Something about a melting brain makes you think about HRT more than people taking it.

As she explained the jab-pronoun pipeline, something clicked. This was my fault. Normal people didn't find future senators, at least this often. Something I consistently said or did, while vandalizing light poles at unemployment hours attracted—oh. Fair enough.

I drained the broth at caveman speed—decorum died two InfoWars headlines ago. Then I stopped by the bathroom. The one at the front of the restaurant. That costs as much as two New York entrees. Weird design. You know how these date spots are.

Anyway, I forgot to share that one on Valentine's Day. I think she runs the CDC now.

A Screenshot

The Present

The Past

A new site calls for a new link to "Only the Good".

The Future

Still figuring out the knobs here. A lot's better, including customer service that isn't an AIM chatbot. Unfortunately, there's no glossy built-in polling yet. I'll play around with some other ideas to fill the void in our hearts. And try not to accidentally break comments again.

Also, another New Yorker thing at some point. Not sure when, but it's in the gears.

Not Brought to You By

I love every page of Physical Culture. But I can't get lazy. Lazier.

Instead, let's get wasted. We're doing vintage booze. Come pop your favorite poison, and see what 50s kidney stones looked like. Starting with...

Beer with a bear. Cute, I guess. A little pointless, but much more human than expected from an early "non-fattening" angle.

Ah, there's the disorder.

Lest we forget, sanity has it's own score. Creatively, we have one attention-span failure, and one non-attempt. You could say that's all it takes, but there are other bulimic brews. You've gotta stand out.

Creativity: D | Persuasion: C+ | Sanity: F

One Sentence Reviews

Signapore Airlines Music: Anti-metalhead discrimination continues. (2/5)

Lamb of God - Ashes of the Wake: The only metal Signapore Airlines digs. (2.5/5)

Olivia Rodrigo - Sour: Stick to the single. (2/5)

Perfume - Plasma: Crap, now I'm a J-Pop nerd too. (3.5/5)

Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This): Deserved a better cover. (4.5/5)

Frank Sinatra - In the Wee Small Hours: Feels feels a a bit bit repetitive. (2.5/5)

Imagine Dragons (Live from Whereverthefuck): I just don't get it. (1.5/5)

Amenra - Mass VI: My post-landing retox. (4/5)

A Question

Signing off

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