A Refined Taste in Music

I recognize that my ability to absorb celebrity gossip is regrettably much greater than my ability to absorb things like history and social theory, but when it comes to bastards like Kevin Federline, I wallow in schadenfraude with a hand down my pants and catalog every minute of it.

Ok, so Exhibit A:



Click the link. For the love of God. Now, Kevin Federline may be a comic genius who's pulling some transcendent Andy Kaufman shit on us, but we all know he isn't. That's really him. He really does all this stuff with no sense of irony. I could go a on a rant about how earning his living entails trying not to piss of his meal ticket while sneaking off to the ATM, but watching that video is exponentially more entertaining. I'm making the prediction that Popozao makes it into colloquial English, just like "jump the couch," for the manifestations of a total divorce from reality. I love it.

And what person worth over $100 million dollars allows themselves or their spouse to bank at Wells Fargo? I bank at Wells Fargo. I'm a fucking college student. I think Britney Spears can create a minimum balance large enough to have a pretty high interest rate checking account. Or use Paypal's Money Market (that shit's earning 4.3% and you can get 1% cashback with a Paypal debit card, check it out).

Sorry. Anyways, Exhibit B:



Conan O'brien makes me put my hands down my pants too. Like the other members of the Triumvirate, I flog my dolphin gleefully whilst enjoying a good belly-laugh, extending the pleasure south down my Happy Trail-less trunk. If I make a robot, it will have James Lipton's sense of humor, meaning, it will have no sense of humor but be a great comic foil nonetheless. Beholding my creation, I could only say, "That's fire."