i'm sorry but fuck me ever putting up a paypal icon, man. i don't want anyone out there scrounging around so i can feel like i'm making something out of this whole blog thing.

the way i look at it, if dollars were to flow, we should be paying our readers, and not the other way around...

i'm serious, yo. you guys came around when I needed you most. I started this site as little more than a bulletin board—a convenient spot for the three of us to post info and brainstorm about possible art projects. Given our collective history of peace and harmony and pleasant dispositions, I figured that even if we happened to not be on speaking terms, we could still communicate and get shit done through our blog.

(I hate that word too, but what can you do? It’s a fucking phenomenon that is what it is what it is.)

Little did I know that the means of communication would itself become the art…

Little did I know that other people would get into our rants and ramblings, dropping comments and emails to let us know they UNDERSTAND.

People from all over the world…a lot of them poor and lonely and fucked in the head, just like me.

Do you have any idea how priceless a little understanding is, party people?

Especially when you didn’t expect any—when in fact, you were pretty sure there wasn’t another drop that could be wrung from the scrunched-up sponge of the world…

I’ll tell you it’s worth more than all the proverbial tea in proverbial China.

…More than all the stars in the sky, you guys have no fucking idea what you mean to me...


They call us on the phone

They call us all alone

They call us where we roam

They call us when we're home

They call us up to par

They call us in our cars

They call us in the bars

They call us superstars!

They call us...


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