By now, most of you have probably seen the blood transport outside of Amy Winehouse’s flat now but exactly how does that work? Do you call and say that you need some blood? Do they offer this in the United States? What if I want plasma? What if I’m a vampire? Imagine the safety issues for humans if vampires could just order up blood. And what’s with the scooter delivery? I would think that a van would be more appropriate. I mean, it does get hot in England sometimes so I guess they pack it in dry ice but still, a scooter? I mean, come on. You’re getting lifesaving blood, for Pete’s sake! Maybe the blood delivery service can’t afford reliable transportation but they could always pass the cost on to the consumer. You want blood? You’ll bloody well pay for it. I’m curious if they’re doing a blood transfusion right in the house. Where’s hospice when you need it?!? Hey, maybe she’s a vampire! That would explain things, now wouldn’t it?

I came across some distressing photos of Madonna while browsing the internet tubes recently. Really, when did she become a zombified Chernobyl survivor? Oh yes, ten years ago. My first thought is, who can protect us from a megalomaniacal ghoul whose unhingable vagina is the place where lost souls go to die? The great hero Ash, of course. A sawed off shotgun and a chainsaw versus a creature who looks like she’s been training with Dhalsim from Street Fighter. Gotta watch out for those yoga flames.

Have you ever sat through a movie that had no redeeming qualities? Movies that Uwe Boll wouldn’t direct, with scripts that Steve Guttenberg (r.i.p) & Roddy Piper would toss in the trash can? I’ve seen some shit that made me think the filmmakers would’ve been better off breaking out the baby oil and hiring fluffers (and this is why Battlefield Earth will not be added). They have the actors, silly plots, and crappy dialog; why not make them watchable by having everyone bone?

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At about 10 a.m., I woke up groggy and sore. Rousing my compatriots, I wolfed down some Applejacks. We made it to the train and headed to Union Park. It was Day Two of Pitchfork. We got there just at the end of Titus Andronicus’s set, only sticking around for the first song (a cover of Pulp’s “Common People”). Although this was pretty good, we decided to walk around the park and see the plethera of awesome–little booths representing both local Chicago stores and favorite companies of the organizers, such as Whole Foods, Mozilla, and The Onion. Walking from from the booths, I made away with a tote-bag made out of tinfoil and a polyester lining, various buttons, and the best free t-shirt of a jellyfish playing a synthesizer ever. Eventually, I made my way to the Firefox booth, where I met the most awkward people at Pitchfork–a feat hard to accomplish, but leave it to Mozilla, I guess.

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The latest is that Britney Spears had…wait for it…her cigarettes out while watching her children. I mean come on, who really gives a shit? How many smokers smoke around their kids and do they get front page stories? Sure, this girl is a trainwreck but she seems to be turning things around and now this comes out. I think that now the paparazzi is really reaching. How many kids have touched a pack of cigarettes or a lighter that was laying around? I can guaran-damn-tee you that it’s quite a few. Seriously, I think people should lay off of the small stuff. It’s not like she had a crack pipe on the table. Seriously!

Everyone has a facebook page nowadays, whether it’s for looking up old friends and keeping up with current ones, finding past classmates you liked, or checking to see if the hot girl you hated in high school now looks like a cave beast. Whatever the reasons are, everyone has one. That popularity drove us good folks at The Gallery to create a Facebook Page, but now there is a bit of confusion and we need your help.

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