Clublife - an essential read

Ok, I realize I just posted about this, but a blog, or anything else of such quality, needs to be shouted from the rooftops. And so, I find myself on the proverbial roof, shouting to the three of you that actually squander away precious minutes of your life reading The Muk Report.

Aww snap, and there's that tennis ball I lost in 5th grade!

Umm, yeah, anyway go to Clublife, put on a Depends, and prepare to shit yourself laughing. To wit,

"As I write this post on the eve of St. Patrick's Day, I'm somewhat dismayed about the less-than-scintillating prospect of spending my ancestors' national holiday in a Guido-infested nightmare of an environment, where the mellifluous tones of Richie O'Shea and Patricia Cahill will be supplanted, at least in terms of the invasion of my consciousness, by the rankling screeches of DJ Carmine, who promises to repeatedly pose the eternal question dogging us all: "Where all my sexy ladies is at?!?"

Admittedly, I am a fan of anyone that so cavalierly writes about the same American subcultures that I find both curious and repellent. I was, for example, a huge fan of the ijc, as it uncannily described nearly all of the robots, err women, that I went to college with - until, that is, it met with an unfortunate and untimely demise (the blog that is, not the women).

Clublife resembles cultural anthropology from the 1800s: pointedly and enthusiastically analytical, yet downright contemptuous and judgmental. Thankfully, for the reading public, "Guidos" and "Guidettes" are not (yet) a politically disenfranchised group. Until then, read on and enjoy without compunction.