Jay Z & Kanye West ft. Frank Ocean - No Church In The Wild (Video)
Jay Z & Kanye West ft. Frank Ocean - No Church In The Wild (Video)

(Source: theericandreshow)
Kate Micucci and Riki Lindhome sing in the roles of the same girl at ages 29 and 31, respectively, and it’s pretty f’n NSFW hysterical. Who knew Riki could go hardcore?
GPOY
(Source: superpunch2)
Many large firms have discarded the traditional notions of partnership — loyalty, collegiality, a sense of equality — and instead transformed themselves into bottom-line, profit-maximizing businesses. These trends, they say, have destroyed the fabric of a law firm partnership, where a shared sense of purpose once created willingness to weather difficult times. “Because the partnership lacks any shared cultural values or history, money becomes the core value holding the firm together,” said William Henderson, a law professor at Indiana University who studies law firms. “Money is weak glue.
The good news is I only have to pick seven of these to answer:
I was like all of you. I believed in the promise of the Internet to liberate, empower and even enrich artists. I still do but I’m less sure of it than I once was. I come here because I want to start a dialogue. I feel that what we artists were promised has not really panned out. Yes in many ways we have more freedom. Artistically this is certainly true. But the music business never transformed into the vibrant marketplace where small stakeholders could compete with multinational conglomerates on an even playing field. In the last few years it’s become apparent the music business, which was once dominated by six large and powerful music conglomerates, MTV, Clear Channel and a handful of other companies, is now dominated by a smaller set of larger even more powerful tech conglomerates. And their hold on the business seems to be getting stronger.
(via longreads)
Preview of Moth City, by ex-WETA designer Tim Gibson.

Dr. Dribbles…
Gumbel, episode 6.

Have a safe Memorial Day Weekend.
See you Tuesday, snoozers and losers.
I think one of the things that surprised me was there’s an artifice—that’s not the right word—there’s a construct, and when you step out of it, it reveals how false exactly that construct is. There is a great sense that what you do matters enormously when you’re working in comics. Yes, they matter to some people, but in the grand scheme of things? On a smaller level, when you’re inside the apparatus, and you are feeding the apparatus and you are part of the mechanism, you will be rewarded and welcomed for it, you know, you’re proving your worth, and your self-worth, in a way—and the second you are not, nobody has the time for you. At all. And I think that was one of the things that really took me by surprise when I left was, wow, all these people who said they were friends, claimed to be friends, they absolutely weren’t. I mean, I dropped off their radar entirely. I was naive enough to believe they had been my friends, and that did not help. That was a dark place for a really, really long time.
(from pulpcovers.)
Shell Scott knew what he had to lose — his life. That’s all, brother — his life.
Had I been the publisher I would have immediately demanded a sequel called SERIOUSLY, LITERALLY EVERYBODY HAD A GUN.
——
“What can I getcha?” scowled the waitress, absent-mindedly returning fire at the busboy. His .32 snub was no match for a magnum bullet between the eyes and he pitched forward, deader than vaudeville.
“Just the soup,” I drawled, a bullet from my trusty roscoe hitting the manager right in the heart before he could bring his deadly shotgun to bear at my face. But there wouldn’t be soup today. The waitress’ pretty head exploded as the six-year-old girl in the corner booth finally managed to draw a bead with the sniper rifle.
Outside in the street, the bullets were flying in a constant stream, the air thick with cordite and the shrill sound of men screaming at their own shattered pelvises. Grudgingly, I leaned out of the shattered window and plugged Peter Lawford in the kidney. This situation wouldn’t make it easy to track down the McLaren dame, I thought — and of course, she’d be packing heat herself.
Everybody had a gun.
Literally everybody had a gun.