In this clearing
a bevy of roe deer is cropping the grass, their muzzles rising and falling like blog hits on a sunny afternoon. Most of the beasts have Facebook-style question marks for heads--or perhaps their faces are ill-lit photographs of parties and beer-battered melees.
Suddenly, two deer raise their heads to the sky as if to receive a godly light. Now in full view, one of the creatures reveals herself to bear the visage of
Catharine Fucking Smith
Who the fuck is Catharine Smith? I should slap you for asking. And put away those god-damned Good 'n' Plenty. Cat is the most devastating, left-hooking epigrammer this side of Saturday night. She'll shove a brass rod through your nose just so it sounds like the bells of Notre-Dame when she slugs you in the head for no better reason than for somethin' to do. We at A Bulbous Gold Goblin Blog are pleased to welcome her dagger into our kidneys.
But lo! Who is this other majestic buck, snout glistening like a holy grail brimming with Bulmers and crunk juice? Why, it's the Irate Irishman, hailing versical maelstroms from Waterford to County Cork to the trembling shores of North America. Who other than
David Fucking Toms
that cascade of testosterone, that lava lamp of late-night revelations, that barrel of HOT WHITE ANDY rolling down the Las Vegas Strip of our nightmares. I feel a storm brewing, folks. Finish up your Reese's Pieces. Gulp down your Big Gulps and hide your sin-twisted faces from the light--for Tomsy will come down upon us like a righteous floodlit unicorn screaming jazz, haunches bucking blurry justice, fuck it all. Fuck it. Hands up. THIS BLOG IS A MACHINE.
these introductions should be read harmonized. totally magisterial. am looking v. much forward to reading the ramblings of catherine and david.
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