Killed by Google

Thursday Night in New Orleans
April 1994

The lazy ceiling fan spun in the humid Louisiana night. It was weighted poorly, letting out a loud squeak every fifth revolution. Annoying, but fixing it would have been more annoying.

I pushed myself up from the pleather sofa, navigated around a coffee table overrun with beer bottles, and shuffled to the entertainment center we had found on the street corner. With one hand I hit eject on the laser disc player and plucked out “Star Wars,” with the other slipped “Dazed and Confused” from its cardboard sleeve.

As it was probably the most prized possession in the apartment, I laid it into the player’s drawer like a newborn. Hit the button, grabbed another beer from the cooler, and threw myself back onto the couch between the dudes. …


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We got the shittiest Christmas Tree on the Christmas Tree lot
It’s gone brown and the branches are bare
But I was super hung over from the holiday party
And just wanted to get the hell out of there

We got the shittiest Christmas Tree on the Christmas Tree lot
Full of spiders and creepity crawlers
It burst into flames when I plugged in the lights
And it cost me 92 dollars


A Song About Spirit

Listen along!

Way up north,

Somewhere near the top of the world.

Sits a magical village

The dream of every boy and girl

Where the factory’s always humming

Every day and every night.

Full of jolly little men

Creating joy with all their might.

But far back in a corner

Sits a pile of fucked up toys.

A football made of spaghetti,

A whistle that makes no noise.

A doll with the head of a lizard,

A toy oven that explodes to the touch,

A razor blade tied to a jump rope,

A pogo stick made from a crutch.

And head down on the work…


A Christmas Poem

Listen along.
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It’s a 6 am morning on December twenty-five
And I’m barely alive
Late-night drunk debating
We were waiting
For the fat man
to hurry up and arrive.

And the little shits are screaming
At my door, they’ve been scheming
But they know —
It ain’t present time
Til daddy says…

I SAID!

Til’ daddy fucking says so.


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The titular girl upon hearing of the 9's beef. By Asdrubal luna on Unsplash

Dear Nine Days,

At some point on our tour together earlier this millennium, we co-headlined a show in NYC. This was on or around the day your song “Girl Story” went to #1 in the US. Additionally, you are from somewhere near NYC, so this was in essence your “hometown show.”

You indicated to us that you had lots of friends and family in town, that you were celebrating your chart-topping success, and you asked if you could go last that night. However, it was our turn to go last, based on the alternating nights schedule.

We said “no.”

Additionally, we notified the club when you ran over your allotted set time, and they signaled you to wrap it up. …


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Mycatkins on Flickr

As a not-dead-yet member of a still-existing-but-slowly-fading one-hit-wonder, I am often asked at cocktail parties and police line-ups “What was it really like?”

Sure there’s shows and tour buses and stuff. But this is the story I like to tell. This is what is was really like.

SCENE: THE EARLY POST-MILLENNIUM ALT-ROCK MUSIC WORLD

We were a band with a gold record and successful tour under our belts. We were a band on the rise that didn’t realize we were actually on our way back down.

We were a band working to avoid the sophomore slump, and trying to do all the right things:

  • We rented out our friends studio at the toxic Hunter’s Point Superfund site to woodshed and write a smash. …


I don’t own a dedicated coffee mug, but if such a thing existed it would probably read “World’s Most Half-Assed Planner.” Possibly with a cartoon monkey slapping palm to forehead.

I’d like to plan better. I really would. I’d even like to buy this mug, but I’ve never really woke up and said, “Today I’m going mug shopping.” The paths of this mug and me have yet to cross. Waiting for Mug-oh.

Back to planning: I wouldn’t chalk this detriment to mere laziness or lack of caring. And at times I wouldn’t even necessarily consider it a bad thing. I feel that planning exists on a spectrum. …


Hello semi-interested Slackjaw subscribers. Lots of action in our world recently, so let’s get right to it.

SXSSW

We just convened our first-annual board meeting at SXSSW Inactive, and it was arguably a huge success.

Yes, while SXSW was happening in Austin, a soon-to-be-equally dynamic convergence was happening at South By South-South-West in Lubbock, TX.

Not everyone gets that invite to Austin. So say hello to SXSSW Inactive, the next wave of all the stuff you go to Austin for, but even more more X. And way way cheaper. And sleazier. Don’t sleep on it.

Thank you to everyone who stopped by the Slackjaw booth in room 316 at the Koko Inn on Avenue Q. We apologize for the itching, and we are actively seeking a new t-shirt vendor. …


Hello unaware follower of Slackjaw,

This is not spam. Well, not the kind you’re used to in your inbox. We do want to sell you our old cans of SPAM, however, so this is spam of a sort. SPAM spam.

Guess what? You follow Slackjaw, the preëminent collection of humor on the World Wide Web.

We’re dedicated to bringing you the ha-ha’s. Or, at the very least, a sharp rush of air from your nose, signifying mild amusement or utter disgust. Either way, we’ll take it.

Aside from a collection of our most recent articles, we wanted to share with you the Slackjaw guarantee: ASSING. This is not an acronym. We either half-ass it, or loudly and publicly bust our asses bringing you the best funny stuff on Medium. Guaranteed. And, if for any reason you find our assing unsatisfactory, well, you know where you can stick it. …

Gueldner

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