Such Great Heights - Ben Folds originally by The Postal Service (posted by sometimesagreatnotion)
ETA - To the many people who are now claiming (in their re-blogs, etc) that this song was originally by Iron & Wine: you are completely wrong. The song was originally written by The Postal Service. Sam Beam (Iron & Wine) covered it. Don’t make me tell you again! If you’re gonna try and be a hipster, at least get your facts straight.
If you are the kind of person who talks about music too much, there are two words that undoubtedly play an integral role in your workaday lexicon: “overrated” and “underrated.” This is because those two sentiments pop up in 90 percent of all musical discussions.
What’s interesting about this phenomenon is that no one uses the same criteria when applying either of those terms.
Bill Simmons Is a Stupid Person Who Understands Neither Mathematics Nor Sports Unless The Latter Is an Emotional Crutch That Makes Him Feel Better About Himself And The Geographic Location With Which He Feels Most Connected
That cat is a fucking douche. If you can seriously write an article five days after the 4th and 2 call and say it was a ‘stupid’ decision, you’re a fucking idiot. If you equate this fucking regular season decision with any World Series or playoff decisions, which in the analogies are game/series long decisions, rather than decisions on a single play, you’re a fucking idiot.
I’m sorry your favorite team lost. That must suck. As a Bengals fan, I have never felt such fucking pain. I hope your gaping fucking chest wound of psychic pain can heal some time in the future. Know that I will be praying for your recovery.
This still does not change the fact that you don’t seem to know shit about sports, you ass-talking cuntface. You’ve proven you don’t know shit about baseball. You don’t pretend to care about hockey by blaming the owner of your local team (some of us kept with it through the shitty owner, just like you managed to pretend you gave a fuck about the Sox and Pats when they had shitty ownership, you fucking jackal —- and yes I blame you for the fucking bandwagon, you two-bit asshat). You just published a book about basketball, but you write about it as if you haven’t watched a minute of it since 1986 (outside of the Celtics’ 17th banner, obvs.).
So now you’re left with football. This is a sport in which your wife beat you in betting for two years. Yet still you lay some claim to be a savant about it. And you don’t fucking recognize that there might be a fucking reason that a guy who won three fucking Super Bowls made a decision you disagree with. Your couch-sitting, porn-watching, self-promoting, cock-sucking ass must be a billion fucking times smarter than the coach who took a team that no one (including you, so don’t fucking front, you cunt) cared about until he won a Super Bowl, and then another, and another. Obviously.
He must be stupid. Not you. Him. You, who spends most of his time trying to shoe-horn a shitty, shop-worn Karate Kid reference into a story about Brandon Jennings (who you spent months shit-talking before realizing he might not suck as much as your racist-ass provincialism assumed and now you can’t get on that bus quick enough), obviously know more about play calling in the NFL than the man you’ve spent the better part of the last decade worshiping. After eight years, because of one decision that doesn’t come out of the dusty pages of the NFL coaches’ playbook, you take the dick out of your mouth and realize it tastes funny.
Well, fuck you Bill. You might be the voice of the fan, but it’s the fan that makes me want to leave the sports bar, leave the bleachers, leave the Klan rally. You’re a self-important cunt who spends more time thinking about what will make you look smart than what actually is smart.
I hate the fucking Patriots. I hate fucking Patriots fans even more, since most of them didn’t exist until you were writing for ESPN. I was happy they lost that fucking game. But they didn’t lose it because of a coaching decision. They lost because of a shitty play call, a shitty spot and a shitty defense that wouldn’t have stopped Peyton Manning in two minutes if the field had been 600 yards long. Belichick knew that. You, obviously, still haven’t grasped it, you cock-gobbling assclown.
Too much heat Itchy wool (#2) Having to sleep on the couch People who show up early People who are bad or sloppy dressers Being criticized in any way Violent movies Ungrateful children (LOL) Losing their sunglasses (#1) People who steal the spotlight
I just want to take a moment and recognize that I have no idea what is going on. I don’t know what I am doing most of the time and I don’t have any idea where this is all going. I regret the things I let go and am not sure about the things I hold on to. Sometimes this is exciting and sometimes, despite the front I put up, it scares the shit out of me. I have no idea how to organize this fear with the excitement I have about the future. However, I know that tomorrow I will wake up and just go to work.
“Manny Pacquiao morphed from Mighty Mouse into Godzilla on the strength of a single, dramatic evening. In a field of contenders and pretenders, he now shines above them all like the Hope Diamond atop a landfill of broken cheap wine bottles.”—Jerry Izenberg - NJ.com
Being on tour with ICP has completely lost it’s novelty. This is a dark, lost sub-culture. I never knew that it was possible for so many people across the country to collectively subject themselves to, and then proceed to justify such a lower standard of living. This is obviously a massive generalization, I know not every Juggalo is a uneducated, drug addicted, close-minded degenerate; but it sure is a lot of them.
For some inexplicable reason, a fairly large number of hipsters work in my company’s customer and technical support department. One such hipster was just in the break room at the same time I was. She was wearing camo pants. I thanked her for her service to our country. She did not appreciate my comment.