WAY more than a certain someone.

Too angry to even speak.

Michigan breaks our hearts yet again. Next time you see a ref/umpire, make sure and punch his cock good and hard.

Hey Posting has been light because Joel and I have a side business where we photoshop in Santa hats and sprinklings of snow into corporate logos and company homepages. Needless to say we’re swamped, but go ahead and enjoy this and think about suger plums busting some mad moves all over the club.

Either we’re coming back twice as strong in Janurary or we might not becoming back.

Brian Smith of The Metro Times says nice things about our friends MotorCityRocks.com, who are the gold standard out there for postive local music blogging anywhere. Also interesting to note they have a piece on Ann Gordon, who runs a really hip art blog and works cross-town for Real Detroit sometimes. An alt-weekly peace accord since I left time? Or sly off-season trade positioning? Careful Dusenberry, they’re gonna try to buy her love away.

Grambones seemingly gets snubbed because he writes about a world outside of the D sometimes. That’s fine, they had they’re angle and they’re sticking to it. Joel and I got snubbed because of complicated racial politics, which need not be explained here.

Also we don’t live in Detroit.

Fuck him.

I’d like to announce to our shareholders, trusties and corporate partners that we’ll be having an end of year intensive retreat at our secret mountain compound to re-decide the direction of Barber College for the forthcoming quarter. Your attendance and input are greatly desired. As most of you have probably not noticed, the site has undergone a makeover recently, mostly due to an elaborate week of parody aborted before it began b/c of my own laziness, all of which was quickly swept under the rug with the help of Thisaway Blue.

Along with our dear Uncle Grambo’s quality control manifesto (seriously everyone already read that right?), this has sparked some fairly shallow reflection on my part, and although Chairman of the Board J-Ho will certainly be weighing in, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that by the end of the month something is gonna give.

Your Xmas card will be following shortly.

Scott
CEO of Barber College Unlimited Enterprises

First Sam, the world’s ugliest dog, and now Tookie. Farewell, gentlemen.

Richard Pryor talking about freebasing to pass the time when he was stuck in bed with MS, which I can’t decide if that’s crazy or not. I don’t know, maybe that’s where Jerry Lewis should be throwing some cash. Anyways, the king is dead, long live the king.

The city was all short girls. They rode on the bus along the lake in the morning and some of them stared off and some wanted the seats gentlemen couldn’t give up and then some of them held their novels up to their noses so everyone could read the titles and some of them dreamed little fictionista dreams of writing their own novels, big thick ones that little short girls like themselves could disappear behind and they knew they could just take a biblical name and a random noun and squeeze together in a title and they’d have their book deals: Isaac’s Stove, The Hammock of Ruth, Nicodemus’ Shoes. And they sat there, pretending to read and clicking their tongues silently in satisfaction and they never stacked wheat and they never made tools, and they didn’t know that their narrow little shoulders might one day crack and the poor witless wilderness, surrounded on all sides by savages, would give in and receded. And the bus rolled south and they bumped along to their stops and they filled the uncaring offices and you might feel bad for them and maybe you should, but there they were, the brawling laughter of youth never too far from tears and they weren’t noble like their grandfathers, but nobody had to tell them that and they just would wrap their scarves a little tighter the next morning, wear heals that were a little bit higher and hope beyond the point where it wasn’t even hope anymore, but more like the hatchling fallen from the nest (which is often mistaken for hope), and they thought about what it must feel like to tumble down like that, staring down from their high, high office windows, and they were scared icy, and they wanted to pull their scarves even tighter on the way home, and they worried who might sit next to them and they thought and thought and thought as the bus went north along the lake into the night.

Dear A.,

Since you refused to surrender unconditionally, the bear got it. You had a chance to save him, but no, you let him die. What kind of message are you trying to send to the children? Do you hate fuzzy koala bears? It’s bad enough that you dressed him in that Commie getup, but then you refused to spare his life. For shame, A., for shame.

Love,

Barber College