Since graffiti is a gateway to more serious crimes like car jacking and murder, I guess it’s not surprising that serial stabber Maksim Gelman aka WES partook in the illegal artform. He wasn’t really a well known writer outside of Brooklyn, but he did get up… on his various Flickr pages. LTV Squad says they’ve found several of them, one of which includes photos of a much happier time when he was painting with his “baby.” More photos below: Read more »
Jojo Simmons, son of Reverend Run, was arrested in Washington Heights on Friday night after police allegedly spotted him buying a miniscule amount of weed and then rolling a joint. While the TV star/aspiring emcee is an idiot for getting caught, it’s a shame that the NYPD still chases these small time busts that keeps NYC ranked as the “Marijuana Arrests Capitol” of the world. |NYP|
By Amy Blair
If there’s one thing that I could change about myself, it’s that I’d be a dude. It’s not that I want a wiener or anything like that (frankly, wieners are fairly narsty appendages, if you ask me)…it’s just that I would really, really, really prefer not to have a uterus. Like, at all. My uterus is a fucking retard.
By Amy Blair
Last night after a minor tiff, my boyfriend picked up my cat and lovingly asked her, “Pong, how would you like to see Mommy get ripped apart by bears?” To which I affectionately responded that I was going to have to pee in his mouth while he was sleeping later that night. He told me I was sweet, but that he was going to chop my tits off with a machete. I informed him that he is a sick, twisted bastard and I was going to have to go have sex with another man for revenge. To which he responded with good riddance. Then we brushed our teeth, got into bed, and fell asleep watching Sports Center. All was right in the world.
By Amy Blair
Because I’m such a fucking sweetheart, I’m going to provide you, my dear, innocent, defenseless little readers with a couple of Public Service Announcements this week. Why? Because you can learn a lot from a dummy.
By Amy Blair
Perhaps it’s because I hang out with a bunch of immature little rejects and alcoholics (hi guys!), or perhaps it’s because the universe contains an inordinate amount of ineligible losers in comparison to my impeccably cool friends, or maybe it’s just that being single is more fun than being tied down…but all I know is that I am twenty-nine years old and I know very, very few people in long-term committed relationships. In fact, I know four couples total, all of whom met in college or graduate school. Which is to say, be cool, stay in school. The pickings are slim on the other side.
By Amy Blair
Over the years I have had a lot of powerful experiences on account of my love for baseball. Some good , some bad , and some just plain strange. As this year’s baseball season draws to a close, I have decided that it’s time to retire the topic. And so, as a final adieu to the boys of summer, I’d like to take a moment to wax nostalgic about one of the coolest baseball moments of my life. A baseball wet dream, if you will.
By Amy Blair
My friend Erika and I like to play a fun game we invented called “Look, It’s Your Future Self!” The rules are quite simple. In short, when we’re out in public our aim is to point out to one another strangers who represent our future selves. She has red, curly hair so it’s usually pretty easy to find future versions of her in any given public venue…I just look for an overweight, middle-aged, red head with mommy-hair and enormous knockers and scream out “Look, Erika, it’s your future self!” To which she usually responds, “Oo, that’s a good one. That’s exactly how my ass is going to expand!” And then I score one point, we all have a good laugh, and then we go home, take a couple of sleeping pills and cry ourselves to sleep. It’s an awesome game!
By Amy Blair
So, the other day I’m sitting in my office, punching some numbers, drinking some coffee, creating some charts, trying desperately to keep myself awake (you know, the usual things you do at work) when in walks one of my coworkers who proceeds to catalog for me, in detail, all of the plastic surgery she is planning to get next month. Apparently a hot topic around here, in walks another coworker who supplies us with the gory details of her breast implant surgery which she had a few years ago.
By Amy Blair
Every October I manage to get myself all worked up over the fact that I don’t have a good Halloween costume to wear. I scour the internet, waste hours in Party City and vintage stores, and then when Halloween actually rolls around it always turns out that my plans suck, half of my friends don’t want to do anything and my costume completely blows anyway.
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