Listen up. I know the shit you’ve been saying behind my back. You think I’m stupid. You think I’m immature. You think I’m a malformed, pathetic excuse for a font. Well think again, nerdhole, because I’m Comic Sans, and I’m the best thing to happen to typography since Johannes fucking Gutenberg.
You don’t like that your coworker used me on that note about stealing her yogurt from the break room fridge? You don’t like that I’m all over your sister-in-law’s blog? You don’t like that I’m on the sign for that new Thai place? You think I’m pedestrian and tacky? Guess the fuck what, Picasso. We don’t all have seventy-three weights of stick-up-my-ass Helvetica sitting on our seventeen-inch MacBook Pros. Sorry the entire world can’t all be done in stark Eurotrash Swiss type. Sorry some people like to have fun. Sorry I’m standing in the way of your minimalist Bauhaus-esque fascist snoozefest. Maybe sometime you should take off your black turtleneck, stop compulsively adjusting your Tumblr theme, and lighten the fuck up for once.
People love me. Why? Because I’m fun. I’m the life of the party. I bring levity to any situation. Need to soften the blow of a harsh message about restroom etiquette? SLAM. There I am. Need to spice up the directions to your graduation party? WHAM. There again. Need to convey your fun-loving, approachable nature on your business’ website? SMACK. Like daffodils in motherfucking spring.
When people need to kick back, have fun, and party, I will be there, unlike your pathetic fonts. While Gotham is at the science fair, I’m banging the prom queen behind the woodshop. While Avenir is practicing the clarinet, I’m shredding “Reign In Blood” on my double-necked Stratocaster. While Univers is refilling his allergy prescriptions, I’m racing my tricked-out, nitrous-laden Honda Civic against Tokyo gangsters who’ll kill me if I don’t cross the finish line first. I am a sans serif Superman and my only kryptonite is pretentious buzzkills like you.
It doesn’t even matter what you think. You know why, jagoff? Cause I’m famous. I am on every major operating system since Microsoft fucking Bob. I’m in your signs. I’m in your browsers. I’m in your instant messengers. I’m not just a font. I am a force of motherfucking nature and I will not rest until every uptight armchair typographer cock-hat like you is surrounded by my lovable, comic-book inspired, sans-serif badassery.
Enough of this bullshit. I’m gonna go get hammered with Papyrus.
Posted from Glen, because I couldn’t reblog it for some reason.
Day 01- Guilty pleasure Day 02- Something that inspires you Day 03- The five songs you would have with you on a desert island and why Day 04- What you imagine paradise to be like Day 05- A thank you letter to someone who has changed…
I Like Them All by Mashup-Germany Keri Hilson - “I Like” + Black Eyed Peas - “Let’s Get it Started” + Alicia Keys - “Fallin’” + Bob Marley - “Sun is Shining” + David Guetta feat. Akon - “Sexy Bitch” + Ini Kamoze - “Hot Steppa” + Jimmy Eat World - “The Middle” + Jamiroquai - “Deeper Underground” + Jordin Sparks - “Tattoo” + Rihanna - “Disturbia” + The Offspring - “Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)” + Justin Timberlake - “My Love” + Milow - “Ayo Technology” + The Chemicals Brothers - “Galvanize” + Yazoo - “Don’t Go” + Michael Jackson - “Billie Jean” + Carl Douglas - “Kung Fu Fighting” + Jamaram - “Cuentito” + Gigi D Agostino - “L’Amour Toujours” + Snoop Dog - “Drop It Like It’s Hot” + Michael Jackson - “Don’t Stop ‘til You Get Enough” + Eagles - “Hotel California” + Estelle - “American Boy” + Plain White Tees - “Natural Disaster” + Mika - “Love Today” + Black Eyed Peas - “Meet Me Halfway” + Just Jack - “Writers Block” + Pink - Get the party started + The Prodigy - Omen + Pachelbel - Canon in D + Faithless - “Insomnia” + Ram Jam - “Black Betty” + Deichkind feat. Nina - “Bon Voyage” + Maroon 5 - “Makes Me Wonder” + Kevin Rudolf - “Let It Rock” + Daft Punk - “Digital Love” + Rednex - “Cotton Eye Joe” + MIA - “Bucky Done Gone” + Backstreet Boys - “I Want It That Way”
Eli came back from Iraq and tattooed a teddy bear onto the inside of his wrist above that a medic with an IV bag above that an angel but Eli says the teddy bear won’t live and I know I don’t know but I say, “I know” cause Eli’s only twenty-four and I’ve never seen eyes further away from childhood than his eyes old with a wisdom he knows I’d rather not have Eli’s mother traces a teddy bear onto the inside of my arm and says, “not all casualties come home in body bags” and I swear I’d spend the rest of my life writing nothing but the word light at the end of this tunnel if I could find the fucking tunnel I’d write nothing but white flags somebody pray for the soldiers somebody pray for what’s lost somebody pray for the mailbox that holds the official letters to the mothers, ———————fathers, ——————————sisters, and little brothers of Micheal 19… Steven 21… John 33 how ironic that their deaths sound like bible verses the hearse is parked in the halls of the high school recruiting black, brown and poor while anti-war activists outside walter reed army hospital scream 100, 000 slain as an amputee on the third floor breathes forget-me-nots onto the window pain but how can we forget what we never knew our sky is so perfectly blue it’s repulsive somebody tell me where god lives cause if god is truth god doesn’t live here our lies have seared the sun too hot to live by there are ghosts of kids who are still alive touting M16s with trembling hands while we dream ourselves stars on Survivor another missile sets fire to the face in the locket of a mother whose son needed money for college and she swears she can feel his photograph burn how many wars will it take us to learn that only the dead return the rest remain forever caught between worlds of shrapnel shatters body of three year old girl to welcome to McDonalds can I take your order? the mortar of sanity crumbling stumbling back home to a home that will never be home again Eli doesn’t know if he can ever write a poem again one third of the homeless men in this country are veterans and we have the nerve to Support Our Troops with pretty yellow ribbons while giving nothing but dirty looks to their outstretched hands tell me what land of the free sets free its eighteen-year-old kids into greedy war zones hones them like missiles then returns their bones in the middle of the night so no one can see each death swept beneath the carpet and hidden like dirt each life a promise we never kept Jeff Lucey came back from Iraq and hung himself in his parents basement with a garden hose the night before he died he spent forty five minutes on his fathers lap rocking like a baby rocking like daddy, save me and don’t think for a minute he too isn’t collateral damage in the mansions of washington they are watching them burn and hoarding the water no senators’ sons are being sent out to slaughter no presidents’ daughters are licking ashes from their lips or dreaming up ropes to wrap around their necks in case they ever make it home alive our eyes are closed america there are souls in the boots of the soldiers america fuck your yellow ribbon you wanna support our troops bring them home and hold them tight when they get here
this made me tear up.
Hi Flurby this teared me up too. Thanks for the Spaces reblog. Tony Blair’s 6hr Iraq Inquiry is tonight, I can’t wait to hear what he says to justify his sorry little self to a roomful of bereaved parents.