I totally forgot I had this. A company who has since got out of business used a very similar image to promote a very bad idea that very much lost them a very much amount of money and stuff. The good news, though, is that now you can own a very awesome poster for a very reasonable amount of money. Yes, it is Cafepress, but trust me when I say that the quality is le awesome and you’ll get years of enjoyment out of this bad boy. So seriously, buy yourself one.

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If you’re not getting the title of this post, then you might want to watch the video in the previous post in order to get up to speed.  Anyway, in case you weren’t tipped off by the media maelstrom of hysterical insinuation, oversaturation, click-baiting rhetoric, certain cones of grave uncertainty, there’s a goddamn hurricane on kids!  Apparently, it’s really unfortunate that this storm is so disorganized, because you know, it makes it difficult to track its center.  Wait, did I say unfortunate?  I meant, fortuitous, because it helps keep everyone in a state of media-sluriping frenzy.  I mean, jesus, the storm’s potential track covers the entire state of Florida, which is to say that present info seems to be vague at best, then again, one of those 37 computer generated models has this thing landing RIGHT IN YOUR GODDAMN LIVING ROOM.  No, seriously, model #24 v1.2a is named, “Your Goddamn Living Room Tracker.”  Every time they show one of those computer model clusters, like 12 of them show the storm well off to the east of Tampa Bay.  One of them somehow miraculously ends up in Nebraska, and the last one does, in fact, show a track directly over Tampa.  Shockingly, this is the bright pink one.

As far as  I can tell, most of the reporting on any potential catastrophe sort of follows this model:

You might make it home safely today.

But there’s always a slight chance that 300 ninja paratroopers will suddenly drop from the sky and kill you.  Stay tuned to the Splog for all your ninja paratrooper coverage.

Whatevs.  Be ready.  And if they tell you to leave, then fucking leave; Rent-a-Center probably has insurance on that plasma anyway.

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You know, they just re-aired an awesome Metalocalypse episode this weekend and it got me thinking. Given the recent crime and craptasticness in our fair city, this episode seemed particularly poignant. I think we could use a bit of Nathan Explosion’s guidance right about now. If you have no clue what I’m talking about, first bow before the new flag of Florida below, then hit play on the second half of that episode. Lazy Tuesday, people, get on it. Also, keep your eyes peeled for the next hurricane on the horizon: Scrambles, the Deathdealer.

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It has been awhile since we laughed heartlessly at someone’s death, what with all the bad vibes around our fair city. Fortunately, though, an opportunity has arisen to forget our own troubles and relish in another’s.

Looks like one of the outspoken advocates for that giant ass “heritage, not hate, but kind of hate because we hate black people, but that’s part of our heritage, so it isn’t really hate” confederate flag has opted to cash in his chips early. This particular champion and gun owner turned gun suicider had a bit of an identity crisis having been born in Jersey (totally not the south, dude) but adopting the ways of the southern asstards after moving here to America’s punchline.

“He didn’t have the actual genealogical linkage,” said Siegel’s friend and fellow Confederate activist Marion Lambert. “But he had the heart and soul of a Confederate.”

Well Marion, let’s hope that soul helps him out when he stands before your God and has to explain his douchery here on earth.

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So, first there was this story about how the St. Pete PD is getting nine new yet completely oldskool (read: not energy efficient) Crown Victorias for its fleet, which, you know, would be swell were it not for the fact that it conflicts with the Mayor’s direct statement that, as a part of the larger greening of St. Pete, the city would no longer be buying those gas-guzzling things.  Apparently those sorts of things, while more or less routine, are supposed to be voted on, but, you know, why let something like actual authorization get in the way of placing the order for the cars?  No one’s gonna care, right kids?  No one except Karl Nurse, who was all like “slow your roll, council folk”, but they were like, “Oh shit, Karl, it’s too late man!”  Brilliant.  There’s kind of a bright side, though, I mean, for the most part, the silhouette of a Crown Vic has been burned into our brains at this point, so even catching one in your peripheral vision sends a quick message to your brain along the lines of “stop driving like a douche for a second!”  Yeah, it would definitely suck getting pulled over out of nowhere by a Honda Fit.

In other shitty green news, apparently the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department is reporting the seizure of 1.5 tons of marijuana in a recent drug bust.  Wait, wtf?  1.5 tons of weed?  Man, it’s already getting more and more difficult to live here and have a positive attitude and now you’re telling me I have to do it without the aid of pot?  Well shit.  Prepare to see a rapid increase in violent crime, punctuality, and in the number of AA degrees actually completed at your local junior college.  Also, prepare to see a swift downturn in the local fast food economy.

Let’s try to wrap our heads around this tragedy with the Splog’s handy dandy guide to the Black Thursday Hugh Jass Pot Bust of ‘08.

Smallest unit of pot measurement = 1 gram.

Generally, 1 joint is approximately 1 gram.

1 Ounce = 28 grams.

16 ounces in a pound = 448 grams.

2,000 pounds in a ton = 896,000 grams.

1.5 tons = 1,344,000 grams, or

1,344,000 Joints

Now, I’m sure I’m going to get a bunch of emails from a bunch of stoners with a newfound sense of arithmetic clarity who will want to splt seeds over how much is in a joint.  I don’t care.  You get the idea.  Also, not that the enforcement agency in question would ever exaggerate the size of a bust, but 1.5 tons?  Are you counting the people you found on the couch in the houses you raided?

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As we all know from watching those ubiquitous Cymbalta ads with that adorable golden retriever being neglected by its owner who is, you know, like totally bummed out about living in a huge house on the beach with craftsman quilts and white wicker furniture, depression hurts, people.  It hurts you.  It hurts me, and it probably hurts that dog you keep in a vented bag and take on the fucking airplane with you.  It hurts the Splog, too, which, incidentally, I also take on planes with me in a little vented bag.  Isn’t it cute?

Am I depressed?  Not really, but it says a lot when you’ve been reading about, seeing and/or being affected by a bunch of totally lametastic local crime bullshit when it takes the wind out of the sails on your proud, intrepid little ROFLboat - the S.S. Lulz, if you will.  Not even making fun of people’s crappy websites brings me joy at the moment.  I may have finally found a use for the word inconsolable.

In the past month, I’ve been witness to a comically botched purse snatching outside the Independent (seriously, it was that dude’s first day, clearly), had my shit stolen from a rehearsal studio, and now, in amongst the usual daily flow of “‘Man stabs other man in spleen over 12 pack’, ‘Gator wrasslin’ granny mauled by neighbor’s pit bull’, and ‘This just in: Forbes says Florida still pretty much sucks at everything’”, there’s this nasty robbery and assault at The Table downtown.  What the shit?

What Casey says is true.  It might be time for an exodus, or at the very least, one long-ass road trip.  Sadly, with the economy the way it is, and with gas prices as high as they are, this may not be an option for many people, which is why I was really happy to find the following footage shot by someone driving out of town.  No, seriously, it’s five minutes of some dude driving North on 275 to the bittersweet rock anthemic sounds of the new and recently made one fifth Phillipino, Journey.

What the shit? Awesome. It’s oddly mesmerizing. Immerse yourself, and just imagine all the new beginnings on the horizon. Well, imagine them until you realize that you totally virtually forgot to drop your apartment keys off with your landlord, and then totally virtually drive yourself back home. Good thing there’s a video going in the other direction:

Crisis averted.

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I have been thinking a lot lately and more than usual my thoughts keep coming around to “what the fuck is wrong with this place?” And no, I’m not setting up some funny story here, I’m being serious. What the fuck is wrong with this place?

I don’t even know how to address this story correctly. Rape and robbery at a new restaurant on Central? How the fuck does that even happen? Why does that happen? What is wrong with humans that live in Florida?

This is such a messed up story and I definitely don’t want to make light of it. But seriously, this is yet another example why we can’t have nice things here. Someone opens Table, which becomes instantly popular and seems like a good sign of the health of Central… and then look what happens.

Please, Florida, show me some redeeming qualities in the very near future or I’m out.

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