Alex Balk

Shocking.

Slightly less shocking when you actually, you know, do the math: “Two in 10 whites said the race of the candidate was a factor in their vote, second only to Mississippi. And only a third of those voters said they’d support Obama as the nominee against John McCain, fewer than in other primaries where the question has been asked.”

I wanted to call tomorrow’s feature “Because I Could Not Stop For Death Metal,” but it was overruled as being “too literary.” Anyway, tomorrow’s feature is about death metal. Get excited.

Then all he'll have to worry about is the "black" thing.

Fuck the flag lapel pin, Obama ought to start wearing a fucking cross.

Presumably in the same way that Joel Stein is a god to people in their twenties and thirties.

“‘The young kids think he’s the cat’s meow,’ says Caroline Hirsch, proprietor of Caroline’s on Broadway, the comedy club where Fallon got his start performing stand-up in the mid-1990s.”

Yes, she’s talking about Jimmy Fallon.

maura:

Classic Cafferty/Simmons in this Live at Five intro from 1983. There’s also this clip of Sue Simmons interviewing Peter Criss, which I’m saving for later maybe.

And then there’s this. Oh my God, it’s like I’m ten again.

Classic Sue Simmons interview, via.

Whatever my reservations about Obama, I have to admit: Dude would be the coolest looking president since Franklin Piece, who was murder on felt.

The business of America is business.

I got a little ranty here, which I don’t ordinarily mind, but I’m extremely shaky this morning. I tried to go to bed at ten the other night and realized that I am no longer capable of doing that without the aid of heavy drink. I tossed and turned and kicked and groaned while my body was all, “What the fuck?” I remember how proud I was when I finally broke through the wall of serious drinking where excessive alcohol consumption no longer woke me up in the middle of the night; now, it’s apparently a precondition for falling asleep in the first place. I should probably review my lifestyle choices.

(via reversecowgirl)

The touching tale of a young boy's journey into a world of erotic sensation.

“I felt like my balls were the stars of their very own super sweet sixteen party. The rest of me had never felt so much alive and confident.”

WARNING: The balls in question belong to Blakeley, so take that into consideration before you decide to click through.

The house I grew up in was an NBC news house. My folks would come home and have a drink and turn on Sue Simmons and Jack Cafferty and we’d all listen to the reports of the latest shootings, parking bureau corruption scandals, and collapsing bridges together. It’s where I learned the value of being informed (and how being an adult meant you needed to drink alcohol at the end of your workday). Anyway, hang tough, Sue! We still love you.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

I, too, am Chuck Bass.

Kidding! Who the fuck knows what’s happening on that show? But Jesus Christ, every single tumbltard on my RSS is lighting up the night with that phrase. Me? I’ll be Chuck D., if it’s all the same.

“ Balk is a semi-famous underground blogger whose entire metier is making satirical thinks up out of whole cloth.

— Also drinking. My metier is also drinking.

Less chill, more shill.

In what’s clearly a first for Radar under my sorry-ass “leadership,” we somehow managed to get a photogallery of a recent event up before ten A.M. I’m not sure what’s sadder: the feeling of accomplishment I somehow derive from it, or the fact that last night I was all, “We need to get this up AS EARLY AS POSSIBLE.” Like, you know, lives were hanging in the balance. Remember when I used to be cool? Or, uh, less not cool?