THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES
by James Killough
There was some terribly sad news last Wednesday: Sarah Palin announced she isn’t running for president. The fact that the final gong on that tuneless, talentless cabaret act was utterly muffled by the untimely demise of a truly great man, Steve Jobs, was the definition of poetic justice, and will set the tone for the Moosehead MILF’s rapid slip into obscurity. However, I shall miss Tina Fey’s impersonations. Fuck, she was funny.
Hopefully this picture will soon be a still from Celebrity The Price is Right.
Joe McGinniss’s article in the Daily Beast had a decent paragraph that summed up just how dangerous this whole episode was:
THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES | INDIA FILES
by James Killough
According to Indian Railways I shouldn’t be writing this. It’s not like I’ve ever misbehaved on an Indian train, unless you count the time my mother and I were taking an overnight local from Jaipur to Bikaner—which would be a three-hour drive on American roads—and I was hoisting her up to the top bunk of the sleeper, and she kept falling off, and we were laughing so hard she said, “Oh, no, I think I’ve wet myself,” which meant she had to get down and the whole process was repeated again.
No. The reason Indian Railways doesn’t think I should be writing this is because, according to them, I have been dead for twenty years.
This masterpiece of assemblage art is entitled "Attack of the Killough Blog, 2011," an homage to five months of PFC, by James Killough.
This is, of course, entirely the Raja of Kotwara’s fault. Creepy bastard. I’m not talking about the New Raja, but the old one, the New Raja’s father. I never knew his name because I just called him Raja-sahib like everyone else. But he certainly knew mine.
by Eric J Baker
This is the true tale of a haunting.
I don’t expect you to believe me. Hell, I’m not sure I do, and I saw it with my own eyes. Nevertheless, it happened. So dim the lights, sit back, and notice that I’m starting my ghost story with a flagrant digression that allows me to mention two brand-new, big-budget films and stick in a cool image which, knowing this blog, will be of a nude man…
...only a semi-nude man, Eric. Ryan Reynolds has the sickest body in Hollywood. Pity to cover it up with CGI in Green Lantern.
The surest way to wreck a movie is to let a computer make it. It’s like crack. If you plan to go on a gang-banging thrill ride and be dead or in jail by morning, you have found your ticket to ride. But filmmakers who care about quality of life and self-respect know that the computer, like crack cocaine, is necessary but best when used in moderation. Art comes from the head and the heart, not from Hewlett Packard.