In the previous installment of our futuristic fiction series, Please Use Rear Exit, Mikhail, who’s recently x-ed his GF, ventures out for his first major post-break up night on the tiles with the boys at the #720’s main terminal. We rejoin Mikhail as he realizes he’s reached that dreaded part of the evening when he’s forced to make use of the terminal’s cooty-laden n’ crusty public restroom… [..]
Super heroes are in right now. While their popularity has been steadily growing for years, each blockbuster movie released only fuels the fanboy frenzy. Video games, movies, television, and merchandise have never been more adorned with super hero icons. The question though is: Who’s super heroes are they?
Actor, writer, director and comic book buff Kevin Smith, whose breakthrough film was 1994’s Clerks, is at his best when he’s just talking. He even figured that out, so in between actual movies, he films his college Q&A tours to release An Evening With Kevin Smith DVDs, the third of which is now in stores. Smith’s movies force him to take break from his raw wit for things like plot and character development. But at least when he makes them, we get to hear some unedited Smith-isms when we interview him.
Every week we ask you guys to show us your ink in celebration of Tattoo Tuesday: we choose one favorite submission each from Twitter and Tumblr, and they win a free 3 month membership to SuicideGirls.com. It really does get harder and harder to choose a favorite…
I’m a pig. Not in an “all women should be in the kitchen making me a pie” way, or the “good lord your personal hygiene is questionable at best” sort either. Frankly I can make my own pie, and I give my undercarriage a tremendous amount of attention shower-wise. Some might argue to a degree that I carry the task beyond mere maintenance, but frankly I feel any job worth doing is worth doing right.
So what sort of pig am I? I’m more of the “you are what you eat” kind. Simply put, I’ve ate me some pig. Growing up in Iowa it was a food group along with corn, meth, and natural light. Summers full of bacon sandwiches and corn on the cob, and cold as shit winter evenings eating enough ham and potatoes to send you into a mild yet non-responsive coma. And, as in any tiny, shitty Iowa town – the kind so small they don’t even have a grocery store – there were at least ten places to get a tenderloin sandwich. But that’s for a different episode, for now I’m simply establishing my credentials in terms of my porkucation.
