If you grew up in a city, you were well aware of a few things while trying to cool off during a sweltering summer.

Wookie family photo? Wookie frat pledge class? Wookie boy band? no clue.

Comedian Tom Scott has created a brilliant set of warning labels to inform publication readers of the journalistic pitfalls that we unknowingly fall deep into everyday.

Edward Mike Davis, a hero to none, a legend to some. Mr. Davis ran a now defunct oil company that went belly up in the early 80’s. En route, he dictated some of the most outrageous inter-office memorandum you will ever read, ever. Like a giant tiger prowling around a oil drilling rig, Mr. Davis ruled his office in the late 70’s with the kind of voracity that would make Montecore look like a pimple-faced, knee knocking pencil pusher.

I don’t own an iPad. I’m sure it would just inflame my addiction to Angry Birds (iPhone crack rock) so yea,  I’m better off without.

I used to LOVE this spot. I would roll through regularly and I wasn’t even a DJ. I brought my newborn daughter in just to catch a whiff of the place. There was something so hip-hop about the place.  Navigating your way through the guys trying to hock their mixtapes outside, trekking up that rickety flight of stairs, catching a tag on the way in and then sweating your ass off in the store. And on the way out, Grey’s Papaya. It was a complete experience. For those who don’t …

You know it was a rough night when you still feel Saturday night on Monday morning.

Really interested window into some written correspondence with Andy Warhol. Makes me miss the art of letter writing.

Due to the disturbing nature of the last post and the backlash therein, I have decided to level the playing field a bit.

As a kid growing up in the eightees’ who naturally gravitated towards GrandMaster Flash, The RockSteady Crew and writing graffiti, I always had an affinity for the New York City subway during the late 70′ and early 80’s. It represented the blood-filled arteries of a city pumping with organic, authentic, city-brewed culture. It was covered with tags and pieces while filled with people of every size, shape, age and color. It was reckless and untamed and most importantly, it was New York City.

I always thought Aunt Gertrude was such a bitch and yet her inflatable meatloaf was irresistibly the shit.

Our favorite hate-mongering, god fearing and searing Westboro Baptist Church has a rich and colorful tradition of picketing funerals, befouling the American flag and typesetting the laundry list of things that GOD HATES. It’s a tough job but, well, somebody has to do it.

Could there possibly be anything more American?

via

I used to work for a major art & writing awards organization in New York. I was a supervisor alongside my friend Claudio. We worked with a ton of cardboard boxes and would often manufacture custom boxes to ship artwork within. Given the nature of Claudio and myself, we would often create gigantic cardboard creations such as oversized cardboard crack pipes and cardboard meth needles. 6 feet tall. There are photos that support this claim and I will post in the near future…. I have to find them. They were …

As a follow-up to last weeks post about the Great Penis Bridge of St. Petersburg, I have uncovered a video detailing the creation of this certifiably insane (and perversely admirable) act. It appears that their attempt to create a diversion fell flat and one of their people got snagged and subsequently bent into a little pretzel. Either that or he was giving birth and the Russian police were acting as substitute doula. The balls on these guys. Wow.

Never thought we’d find common ground.

If your going to do it, do it big…… really big….as a matter of fact, paint a really really big penis on a bridge in St. Petersburg if you truly want to go that big.  This masterpiece was created by a Russian group that calls themselves “WOJNA”(war).  If the act of painting an enormous penis that becomes erect everytime the bridge opens isn’t a ballsy enough move, the bridge is located directly in front of the FSB intelligence service building.

So, yea. Jesus got hit by lightning of I-70.
No comment.

I appreciate the grime and urban decay that defines the NYC subway system but the Swedes really kicked ass with their jawn. Choo choo.

While going through my morning emails I came across a call for artists for a Verizon sponsored mural competition, “How Sweet the Sound”. The project seemed cool enough. Cash money for a handful of artists that will be making murals in a collection of cities across America. The concept seems very inspired and original. Their logo? Not so much.

If you don’t know the fine folks from Autotune the News…….well, now you know.
They had a dry spell but this one kicks ass in it’s own regard.

For the child masochist.

Before I lit this candle, my house only smelled like dog piss. Now it smells like thin greasy onion burgers and dog piss.

In her prime, Delores confidently strutted her stuff around the Leipzig Zoo. She was the kind of bear that all the male spectacled bears wanted to be with and all the female spectacled bears wanted to be. She had dreams of being signed by the Animals Actors Agency.

It has been speculated that the over-sized and super-powered 50 Cent had been using steroids although that never explained how he was able to survive getting shot 9 times at close range. New photos released from Thisis50.com confirm that 50 Cent has been concealing a secret identity and has been living a double life as a nerdy scientist and hardcore rap star. Details are slow coming in but reports indicate that Curtis Jackson was conducting experiments with a chemistry set in the basement of his grandmother’s home in South Jamaica, …

Taken from New York Daily News:
And you thought you had a bad smoking habit.

We’ve all been there. You get signed to your first major deal with a record company. You get a fat advance, cash your check at the nearest check cashing van and get your ass to the jewelers so you can spend it all on a diamond encrusted box of Frosted Flakes.