Good Morning, I'm Back

By Beth 

I’m back, lovers and fiends, so GOOD MORNING! You may wonder where I’ve been, but a magician never reveals his secrets and nor will I. Let’s just be thankful for our time together now and move on with our morning of respective OCD routines.



Happy Birthday Prince! I never really gave a shit about you, but today seemed like a good day to start. I tried, I really did via ten minutes on youtube, but your considerable age (52, who knew?) and lack of relevant music for the last decade has made me realize I am simply not willing to risk an illegal download for you. And what’s love without the thrill of a little torrent action? I will forever appreciate your freaky funk and androgynous sexuality prior to 1995, but this aural affair ends there.


Today’s Prophylactic



Jimmie Hatz: The Official Condom of the Hip Hop Kulture.

Even badass ballers need to put on a glove before they make love, and I guess regular old rubbers just ain’t cool enough. The black latex “Great Dane” will give you the confidence no Trojan ever could. It’s rough out there on the streets these days, and grandpa’s rubbers never turned anyone on, so stock up on these bad boys at the Peoria County Health Department or from progressive pimps nationwide. Hollaaaa!


Today's Internet Creativity

By now all you indie hipster wipes have become acquainted with the adorable collection of creativity on Etsy.com. I much prefer her ugly step-sister Regretsy.com, which compiles the best of the worst of people’s pathetic attempts to glue things together in the name of Art and sell them for amazingly bold prices.

A few of my favorites:

Dead baby unicorn


Roadkill cum Frankenstein


Macramé exposed



Let’s all take a moment to rock out to one of my healthier obsessions.




Today’s Hindsight

We all depend on OYIT for outrageous predictions to base our daily decisions on, but I prefer the safety and accuracy of hindsight. Let’s take a look at this week in my life 2004: Like any college student worth her tuition and textbooks, I rolled into summer neck deep in a hole of sex, drugs and rock n roll. I chose to party all night and spend my days at home fornicating with a new boyfriend instead of showing up for my shiny new internship at the Red Cross. I managed to stumble into the office (late) twice in two and a half weeks before my strangely sympathetic boss went on vacation and her scaly assistant fired me. Well deserved, so I shrugged off my shame, lied to my advisor and my parents, and continued down my deviant path. Many moons have passed, and I now have to deal with those dedicated Red Cross employees through my professional setting. To add to the general awkwardness that is my life, I must have told some horrible, detailed lie as one of my excuses, because from time to time they delicately inquire about my “condition.” Lessons to be learned: internships matter and love doesn’t last. Please give blood today to atone for my sins.