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In This Issue

• Life After Graduation? You're Kidding!
• Touched By Tom Brokaw
• Mr. McLaughlin's Culturally Confusing Neighborhood
• Livejournal: Hardcore Gateway(TM) Drug
• Columbia Decompiled
• Looking Back At Evolutionary Monkey Business
• How Right You Are!
• The Fed Kidz Page
• Veganism Sucks
• iPod Shuffle Advisory
• The Great Debate: Tune In or Pass Out?
• Weapons of Ass Destruction
• Letters to the Feditor
• THEY WATCH
• The Blue And White

Matthew Theodore Holden

File Photo: The Indian Menace strikes a multiethnic blow.

Matthew Theodore Holden

I’ll give you tech support... with syphilitic blankets!

Do you know what new pretentious group I totally hate? Indians. They're always trying to make sure everything they do is sooo indie, and I hate how they're such hypocrites. They're always sitting around smoking "peace" pipes, but they weren't so into peace when they let their home state of Indiana go red in November, were they? If they don't even care about babies getting torn apart by mortars in Iraq, all that silly shit about eating every part of the buffalo and respecting the tree spirits begins to seem pretty fucking retarded, doesn't it? Yesterday I burned my Last of the Mohicans VHS tape and then took a shit on the ashes.

Yeah, I know that burning plastic and excrement smell terrible mingled together, but tell me you don't dig the symbolism.

Oh, and the other day, I had to call customer support at Dell because the network card on my new machine is fucked up. I had to talk to this indie guy with this ridiculous accent who didn't know shit about computers and was obviously just reading from a script. Seriously, I know he thinks mispronouncing words as though he's British (even though he's not) makes him sooo indie^TM, but I think it's just fucking stupid. And what's so indie about Business Process Outsourcing anyway? I could maintain General Electric's Oracle databases for ten cents a day too if I wanted, but I'm just not that desperate to be cool, O-fucking K?

If all those asshole Kid Dynamite fans, who were Mighty Mighty Bosstones fans like just last week, even knew who they were looking up to with this whole stupid indie thing, they would shape up real fast. I mean, that punk Dale Earnhardt has been their hero since, like, the eighties, when he won the Indy 500 all those times. Seriously, Dale fucking "look at me I can drive my car so fast- ooops now I'm dead" Earnhardt. What the fuck did he think was going to happen? There's a reason I don't take sharp corners at 120 miles per hour, and it's because I'm not a fucking douchebag. I don't want my kids to see pieces of my liquified brain splattered all over the windshield in the morning paper. The moron wasn't even drunk when he did it.

I'm sure all those dickwads in Brooklyn with their jet-black dyed hair would shit their over-tight fake-vintage pants if I just went in there and smashed their limited edition Dale Earnhardt memorial collectible plate set with my fucking aluminum baseball bat. And then they'd start crying like the little punks they are. I guarantee those fucking Vishnu-worshipping, checkered-flag dropping, mobile home pieces of shit wouldn't even draw their tomahawks in defense.

Because that's just the kind of pussies they are.