Extra Evil

Extra Evil - Slogan.01

Voyage.03

Omens

Citizens United was a warmup.

Venezuela shook.

Europe baked.

Birthright citizens can stay in New Spacexia.

Hug the day trader in your life.

Patreon's ready to start plucking features from MySpace.

Mirage

Announcements

I've failed you.

A decade after adopting See More Evil.

A decade after the empire embraced evil.

A decade after Google gave up on Not Being Evil.

Only today, have I picked the side-slogan Be Evil.

I'm sorry.

Good news: I'm about to enter the Dungeon of Torment. It sounds off, but the last time I entered The Dungeon of Torment, we got a Civil War Catch-22 out of it. So I'd say the Dungeon of Torment isn't half bad.

Will you take off from the newsletter?

Nah. Attention spans are in short supply, and it looks cold on Substack these days.

Will you take off from the column?

Nah. I need attention.

Will you take off from a base human function that keeps us alive.

Now you're cooking.

Will you take off from base human contact that keeps us sane?

I wasn't going to, but that sounds like the ticket. Good idea.

A spoiler for The Furious follows. If you like punching, and intend to see The Furious, skip to the next bullet point.

They changed the script because Brian Le (bald maniac) was that good, right? Either that, or the arc was improvised. I'm in either way. Golden time.

The website for the dumb prank's done, now I just need to decide how much money to light on fire, and if I'm willing to go to wheatpaste hell in a heat wave.

Be Evil.

Feels right. Fast times around here, huh?

Entertainment

One of the saner stills from The Furious.

The Furious: One of the dumbest films I've ever seen and also perfect. (4.5/5)

George Anderson's Lessons From The Light: I'm amazed what George got away with, and what I get away with writing. (0/5)

Casino

How to Dodge a Cannonball teaches the title skill if you read carefully.

George Anderson deserves no peace.

I had a brief cloning fixation.

Nonsponsor

There's a stock story in music classes—at least the ones around Princeton. I have the ear training of a corpse, but I can regurgitate the story.

The gist is that a student plays around the piano in the lobby, and the maestro enjoys it. Then the student gets pulled away early by some real-life nonsense (probably love or graduation, the fool), leaving a chord unresolved. And the maestro is compelled—nay possessed—to push through the crowd and push that key.

That's not how I feel about unfinished jokes. I have stuff to do. But there's a little tension, and these PSAs have a whiff of that.

Before I dive into madness: this isn't bad at all. The idea's coming through. It's fun and playful, which tends to help with sex. And it's not even making the world worse to earn someone ten bucks, which is nice.

Now, let's talk about what doesn't matter. Said madness.

With this topic, in this space, the banana peel is in metaphorical limbo. Clothes? Condom? An arm? Some kind of nutritious wang?

The art direction say arm, but the topic says wang. The brain sprints to banana as gonads, peel as latex. But then again, protection doesn't quite work, because when you have to peel a banana to eat it. There's not much fun to be had with an unpeeled banana. Well, except for advanced sex, but subway PSAs are not there.

My point? We're in a space between two or three punchlines, and my mind is gone.

And it doesn't matter! No one cares but demented newsletter writers. This ad's fine.

Creativity: B | Persuasion: B- | Sanity: A-