I'll Simper About Shared Values On Time This Year, Thanks

Last year? A day late. The year before? Overslept. Pretty fucking shabby treatment for a fucking blog holiday, possibly the premiere blog holiday of the year hereabouts, since I certainly am fond of D-Day, now that I consistently remember it as Kiltboy's birthday too (h/t Hamster--the nick is his doing, and better than mine). So it's a day early as I write this, because we willna be foo'd agin (Crivens!). We'll just give this here bloggity scheduler thing a twirl.

Of course, I'm a dick, and I snarked at BFF mightily on the Twitter machine this morning about something pointless, which got me to thinking/realizing about what I had to get done before tomorrow, which precluded the longform snark, which would've really been classless. So here we are.

I actually started thinking about this months ago, for a change, and so you're getting something that's not David Bowie, though you'll get that at the above two links, so good enough on that. No, I wanted something summative. Something like:



I know, right? Totally different time of imperium, totally different time of life, but all the exact fucking same thing, right? Except American bands came back and shit. But, y'know, that's just a diversion in the river of conscience.

So there's that, because, well, we mustn't, y'know. That's one founding principle for this year. Here's another.




That's right. Suck on Martha Hull, bitchez. Here, that was so fucking awesome you should suck on her again:





That's where we come from, X-gen/millennial whelps. Low tech, beer-fueled, Cold War-powered angst while wearing our shitkicker hiking boots and slamming into each other at top speed, at least top speed for drunken not-really-grups on dope. I think I mighta gotten to touch someone's breast at one of those once, too. Woot.

We didn't even know we were going to elect Reagan yet, the Iranian hostage crisis hadn't happened, the World Trade Center was barely built, let alone twice bombed, and Richard Fucking Nixon was still an excellent moral compass. Try growing up with that shit and tell me how hard your life is when you didn't get a fucking cell phone until you were 14 and Obama didn't buy you a fucking pony. Right. Off my lawn, & c.

Happy Birthday, BFF, you geriatric fuck, and props to our boomer brethren. Because generational war beats the fucking shit out of class war.