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October 19, 2010 / scherstuhl

Porno Cat tempts you with your weekly Crap round up!

Porno Cat knows what you want.

Porno Cat is tired of all of the accusations.

Yes, he did pose for this photo. Yes, he did face tough times upon moving to Los Angeles. Yes, he did trust the wrong people. Yes, he does believe that feline sexuality is a beautiful thing that nobody should ever be ashamed of, ever.

But he denies in the strongest possible terms the allegation that he did it just to draw attention to his master’s blog posts. Porno Cat might make mistakes, but he isn’t Screech, people.

Porno Cat cries. As he does so, he asks that you honor his suffering with a visit to this week’s Studies in Crap posts:

First, at the Pitch and the Village Voice, a look at the rare SiC book that isn’t actually all that Crappy: a Canadian sex-ed comic book from the 1980s that features stories about mothers realizing that of course their hot young daughters should jaunt off to Winnipeg for hotel parties with dudes in bands. In this piece, Alan misspelled “Manitoba” and included at least one joke that, upon re-reading, makes no sense.

Meanwhile, the LA Weekly has a mid-century beaut packed with crazy sex-stuff but still much less explicit Porno Cat’s hawt pix. It’s 1950’s The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Sex, a book that will leave you wondering how previous generations got it together long enough to make you.

October 18, 2010 / scherstuhl

Something to Remember, Just Before You Die: Will Eno Meets Thom Pain, Charlie Brown, and Samuel Beckett

This is an illustration that accompanies a blog post.

In the hour or so that he demands of your life, Thom Pain — the wry, distractible and unfailingly sincere monologist whose existential crises shape Will Eno’s 2005 play Thom Pain: (based on nothing) – tells you two jokes, one dream, one lie, one moment from his childhood, and something of the edges of a failed romantic relationship.

He will crumple a handkerchief and marvel at its resemblance to a human brain folding grayly in on itself. He will attempt a magic trick. He will solicit a volunteer from the audience. He will be forever on the cusp of sharing the huge concerns that crowd inside him – huge concerns that he can’t ever quite find words for. He will show his heart and then make a joke to cover it up.

Read more…

October 12, 2010 / scherstuhl

Doe-eyed Highland Park Jesus Offers Peace, Understanding, and Your Weekly Crap Round Up


As with Drew Barrymore's in "Firestarter," strands of J.C.'s hair lick up around his temples when He's about to do something magic


As a giant-handed Jesus mural blessed with a peace-sign Blingee and an over-easy halo, I am of course omniscient. I see past, I see future, and I even see the people who joke that the thick line down my nose and my uncertain proportions make me look a bit like a Mad fold-in.

I’m not some square public-art Jesus like that blocky disaster Christ of the Ozarks, in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. With his giant head, stumpy body, and overall appearance of cheap plasticity, that dude looks like a holy Pez Dispenser.

He’s omniscient, too, but seeing everything doesn’t mean He actually looks. Me, I got these big doe eyes of Mine from a decade or so of dedicated blogreading. Like the book about me says, millenia are just a twinkling in my eyes, but blogreading, man — that jacks up my peepers real Precious Moments style.

Anywho, this week My big doe-eyed Jesus blogroll buddy is Alan Scherstuhl (pictured.) He managed to write two whole Studies in Crap posts this week without once making fun of the folks who write insane stuff in My name, so he gets big props for that.

There’s this, at the Pitch and the Village Voice, about a terrible guide to terrible marriages, including photos that made these eyes of mine puddle up with laugh-tears, which is how we get fog.

And there’s this, at the LA Weekly, about a 1970’s guide to dating called “America’s Best Pick Up Spots!”

Also, the Weekly ran this thing about people acting the fool at the bus stop. The guy who was being hassled took my name in vain. At that I cried tear-tears, which is how we get death fog, like that purple stuff in The Ten Commandments.

October 10, 2010 / scherstuhl

After street tacos, how about street porn?

I hate to find truth in a stereotype, but since moving here I can’t even walk down my block without encountering heaps of hardcore porno.

I mean this literally. Just this morning, a stroll down Kenwood Avenue led me to this just one block from my door . . .


The streets are paved with golden showers.


Read more…

October 5, 2010 / scherstuhl

Blogs is blogs is beauty: Gertrude Stein presents your weekly Crap Update!

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We belong with blogposts posted on a blog and in a case that blogposts have come in fact to be posted on a weblog for blogposts we may say we must say that this case demands of us further blogpostings on a weblog we belong to so that we all know that those blogposts belong.

Here are blogposts on weblogs built for blogposts that here are now being blogged about.

Studies in Crap at the Pitch and the Village Voice:  “Lara Croft is Always Game for Watersports.” Eros & Teletubbies & Michael Keaton as nightmare snow fellow Jack Frost!

And at the LA Weekly, a thing that was blogged that is logged here for its thingness: “The Truth About Juvenile Delinquency.

Furthermore, blogged blogged blog ged . Blog ged. Blogged G.E.D. blog God blog blog glob. Glob of God. Blog blog blog bog bog boggle gobble. Gobble blog blog gob gobble gable.

October 4, 2010 / scherstuhl

The silence of sound: OR, Merle Haggard stomps John Cage in Bakersfield, CA

Uncertain silences. Growls and gasses. The full symphony of digestion. That’s what we’ve been spared thanks to music’s descent, in just over a century, from a vital artform into the careless background thump that has come to score our lives.

It urges us through stores and highways, syncs its rhythms with our own as we dance or run or love or shop, guides and shapes our minds something like a current must guide and shape a fish’s.

In public it relieves us not just of the human hubbub but of even having to think of things to say.  “Oh, I love this song,” you can gush when conversation lapses. Of course, the song has quite likely been on a full minute before you’ve noticed it, and you will forget it’s on before it finishes.

At bars, it relieves you of having to talk altogether, and even of having to figure out what to do with your body if you suffer a rush of self-consciousness: just bob a little.

Read more…

September 26, 2010 / scherstuhl

Getting fungent with another weekly Crap round up!

Your Crap Archivist with close, personal friend Rob Zombie.

Another week has passed, which means another Studies in Crap stinkbomb chucked at your internet. Hope you’ve got a gas-mask because even by the SiC standards this one is pungent. (But fun. Can I coin the term “fungent”?)

First up, over at the Pitch and the Village Voice, it’s the self-published and spectacularly un-fact checked The Untold History of America. Did you know that the US, the Soviets, and the aliens teamed up to build a secret base on the moon? Did you know that Henry Kissinger was a Bolshevik? Did you know that Gerald Ford was a —

— uh —

— – that one I’ll leave for the piece!

Also, here’s the second edition of Studies in Crap West Coast, in the LA Weekly. This one’s on a 1966 schoolbook titled “Let’s Visit the Middle East” that pretty much explains American misconceptions about Islam through alarming thoughts like this:

“Given time and help to solve their many problems, the nations of the Middle East may once again contribute much to civilization.”

And Also Also, here’s part two in my Los Angeles Bus Rants series, as originally presented here on this very blog. It’s filthy! Seriously, if you read it you will want to punch my mama in the mouth.