Kevin Cannon Draws 20 of The Worst People of 2013
Cartoonist Kevin Cannon illustrated the 20 worst people of the year 2013 for Minneapolis City Pages. The article is written by Peter Kotz and gives an illustration and brief summary of the worst people of the year, and trust me, there’s some genuine dirtbags on this list. Peep it here. Also take note on how many of these people reside in my home state of Florida.
Fasciated Veronicastrum Virginicum. The distortion, known as fasciation, is a freak of nature, and often looks like several stems have been fused together. It’s a rare phenomenon and does the plant no lasting harm. It can develop on a range of shrubs, flowers and perennials. The cause could be environmental, such as the weather, or a pest attack that causes physical damage to the plant. Some fasciated plants are actually quite attractive and have led to varieties known as cristates. These include forms of ferns, cacti and succulents.
Photo credit: Cath Farrow
John Hughes and Matthew Broderick on the set of Ferris Buller’s Day Off
interpretive dance off while utilizing a game of twister is the only way to truly get to know your friends. a pragmatic decision made by the bold and bravest souls that get to savor licked lips and aggravated nights of restless dreams that don’t come true. this anger is for my self. the anger that thought he’d never see $36k for uninsured appendectomies, upon filing bankruptcies for failures of escaping a culture i’ve spent my whole life disgusted with. knowing that we ate like pigs because of generations of not knowing better. i gorged the first time i saw a somalian kid on tv. i looked down and saw my ribs as i inhaled as hard as i could. that was the first time i realized i was afraid to see my insides. i hid my bones as soon as i could and lived with the shame of hiding from myself under a thick skin of hedonism, made of fat and muscle that danced to his heart’s desire and smoked his lungs black, who drank the ales of monks, who moshed in pits of punks, who’s literally wiped ass, and pushed clerical paper, secured the night and standing outside isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. i’m talking raggedy nissan convertible sizzling on black top in the triple digits. and sticking by cause if i’m not worth it i needed to show how much you could have meant to me, so when i die go head and have a spree. cause i couldn’t get shit as a medical biller. cause i spent all that time jerking off to the thought of you and i was too damn tired to work. when i crawled back in bed with bad decisions. and i got too comfortable to get up again. because you haven’t changed, and you never got curious, maybe you never said hi and i’m keeping you from sucking you into my failures at articulating just how scared and anxious i am to speak and be myself. i’ve seen and done and have been, or had become. tired of a distant life i’m too afraid to share. i’m tired of acting like i don’t care, i’m tired of saying i love you to a pillow and a dream. so much and so badly i took a bath with herbs to invite your face to mine. get a whiff of this lavender, chamomile, cucumber, cream tea. sorry, this ones not vegan friendly, but please just take a sip. dancing in love cups was a phrase i couldn’t connect the dots to until i met you. please just give this a chance, i know all about the good games i’m talking future, present, past. i bet you would seriously ask honey moon or harvest moon. i know all about the musics florence against machines and death trips. they say beyonce my fiance cool, more janelle monae for me. go ahead and buy a ps4 cause imma cop my ps3 at the thrift store like a g. or like just borrow it. i’ll wash em, whatever. bleh you get it, i’m neurotically erotic. i’m looking to get your heart by the tastebuds of your vagina. who has met people crazy enough to hitchhike around the world and back. how they say you should just go for it and not look back or you’ll be back. because i just wanted to keep saying everything while i could take my time. and i stopped counting the minutes of poetry and every word felt like real life. it’s scary to me how much that phrase makes sense. and i feel like for you theres no point in showing any pretense. because you knew what i liked and that means alot to me. you knew literally how to turn on my dreams. i wanna laugh with you and leslie knope, i wanna learn to make you the world like a ron swanson boat, i wanna shamelessly make a stupid band like mouse rat. we’ll see the pharcyde and elevate rap. just please, give me a sign. tell me all about the places you dine. i don’t know you, i haven’t met you and chances are you hate everything about me but still can’t resist an urge to hug me, and then you can kill me. because if everything i did was just to get your attention it wasn’t worth it. i’m still all fucked up as much as i’ll always be saying this doesn’t change how i don’t feel worth it. thats why i’m not afraid to say it. that’s why it hurts more than you’ll ever know. thats what prevents knowledge to the boy that refuses to grow. it’s been awhile goddamnit, you spent this long not sending this to her because no one ever sent one to you. no ones ever took their time to send a love letter to you. well i wanted you to really feel from the bottom of heart. and i think some of you know this is where it feels like everything you touch is art, and feel the tingling freshness that’s just that cathartic releasing part like a part of you just echoed throughout the dimensions of space and time cause you could rhyme about your own truth a little from time to time. and to you and everyone that cares for me at all. you read this, pat yourselves on the back, you give a shit. go find your friends and have a ball. let me stick around this time and listen to you all. i know you’d think i was a stalker if i asked for your address, but you told me about your wrist and i just wanted to mail you something really thoughtful like a link gauntlet, or felt dinosaur sleeves, send you my love with better bear pops and gummy vitamins. i’m still afraid of meeting you and chances are i should. i think everytime i see you i’m just torturing myself and i should move on. and it’s not about time i’ve spent invested obsessing on someone its about you looking, sounding, creating, and just being apart of everything i could find beautiful. your knowledge, wisdom, kindness, humor, and taste. and thats why it sucks. i don’t know what i’m doing. no one does. so why does what i do matter? maybe this writing isn’t always worth everyones eyes and maybe it should be that way. and we can maybe all day and be babies and cuddle and nap and be listless and blissful enough to clap. and we could play. and that can mean anything you want anyway.
so what do you say?
hollaback? heres my digits, keep in touch, tell me about mundane shit like what you had for lunch. lemme show you my dance moves cause for you i don’t give a fuck. you can see something i’m afraid to read. you can talk about someone you’ll probably never meet. you can let this gloss your mind and go back to your own dreams. there i go back and forth because i don’t know how to believe in me. because i’m going back to grinding through work and sleep long after i post this. and it won’t matter to all the people i love most and the ones that wrote me off, my family, friends, and well anyone. all this shit is in my head and it just keeps me up at night. i’m tired of being tired. i hate writing, it’s never done anything good for me. i feel good sending anonymous love letters maybe i could live with that. just be happy with nothing. cause i’m too afraid of being your mistakes. i’m already my own failures. the only thing i was good at was video games and even i suck at them. i’ve been jaded by my own dreams. i’m useless. i’m just an honest tongue stuck in a mouth of bad breath, too nervous to say whats really left, cause i fear i reek so bad i’m unkissable, now if that isn’t maintained it’s hard to justify whats livable. cause its been so long since an embrace lasted longer than a brief squeeze. and someone just held me. liked me, loved me. i’d say its been about 17 years. ugh. i don’t know. i just don’t know. fuggit.
theyve started selling lucky charms at tescos and ive never had any american cereal before and it has little tiny marshmallows in it and im haivng heart palpitations this is so sugary my body isnt used to this ive been living off cornflaeks for the last 16 years why are there marshmallows in my cereal who came up with this idea i feel like a bag of sugar just jizzed in my veins there are sweets in my fucking cereal is that even legal im so confused
you can have reeses for breakfast
“Christmas crept into Pine Cove like a creeping Christmas thing: dragging garland, ribbon, and sleigh bells, oozing eggnog, reeking of pine, and threatening festive doom like a cold sore under the mistletoe.”
everytime i log into this site it feels like bob marley’s could you be loved plays in my head. and everytime its followed by a blood-curdling NO.
Portable Personal Washing Machine for Travelers: Shaking Wash - Gezginler için Taşınabilir Kişisel Çamaşır Makinesi: Çalkalayarak Yıkama by Jung Seub Lee
Brilliant. I want to drink irs brain and absorb its power.
[COLLEGE KID INTENSIFIES]
sammy davis looks like the dude to kick it with
If this wasn’t one of your favorite cartoons in the 90’s, we can’t be friends.