Rated NC-17, Disney Adults Only
In the worst accidentally horny marketing disaster since Anchorage, Alaska’s catastrophic “Bussy Incident,” Disney sent out an email promoting new limited-edition Mickey and Minnie Mouse ears which announced that: “Minnie is dripping with excitement as she celebrates the centenary of The Walt Disney Company…”
And the ears? I hate to do this to you first thing on a Monday
but the ears look like this:
If you want your mussy to look like it just got back from a Donald Duckkake party, it’ll cost you $175 for the Minnie ears or $195 for Mickey, plus any self-respect you had left.
I considered just filling the rest of this newsletter with lorem ipsum because I assume no one got past that opener, but regrettably this weekend was also a cursèd confluence of ill-conceived tributes to the Queen and ill-conceived 9/11 memorials so let’s just get the worst of those in front of you now, while you’re already reeling in horror: “Queen Elizabeth II's Death Inspires Kanye West to Settle Beefs.” The bees have been told, and the Wikipedia editors have been told. David Bowie (who is also dead) announced that:
The Marlins grounds crew went “above and beyond,” but should have remained below and before. Oh my God, he admit it! A U.K. poppers store took a break from its normal fun content to wish the Queen a respectful RIP. Also sad about the Queen: the LAPD, the British Kebab Awards, the wokescold nepo babies of Lockheed Martin, Paris Hilton (RIP “the original girl boss”), this bus, the sky, and whatever this is supposed to be. Also remembering 9/11: Fox Sports, Rudy Giuliani (“…in some ways, you know, the greatest day of my life”), horny Ted Cruz, and whatever this is supposed to be.
All Yesterday’s Parties:
Matt Yglesias fans and Effective Altruists (“…but I repeat myself”) are ripping Claws at David Shor’s loft in Lower Manhattan and The Times is On It:
The smallest of the zones was Mr. Shor’s bedroom, which had been transformed into a space called the Candy Dungeon. A whip, a chain, a feather duster and a riding crop hung from a wall.
This guy definitely fucks, don’t put in the newspaper that he doesn’t fuck.
Curtis Yarvin and the techno-tradcath neoreactionaries of Urbit visit Dimes Square in this long but very good James Duesterberg story in The Point. Peter Thiel’s cringe-puppets promote Yarvin’s crypto-nazi Project Xanadu reboot via sweaty cultural frottage with downtown models and horny podcasters, and everyone pretends they’ve read Deleuze.
“Here’s the deal,” the Urbit crew heard the No Agency guy say. “You give me back those twenty hats, I give you back your five thousand dollars, and I never fucking talk to you again.”
In Esquire, Tim Maughan managed to transcend the truly dreadful premise that “you’re going to need a closetful of virtual clothes if you want to hang out in [the Metaverse]” with a pretty decent story about the current state of “metaverse fashion,” which is, as you probably guessed, a bunch of corporate fashion brands humping Zuck’s empty virtual shopping mall.
Today in Burgers: Brittany Chang “went to YouTube star MrBeast's massively popular new burger restaurant and ate a shockingly disappointing meal.” I love every “I did a regular thing and it kind of sucked” photo essay that Insider publishes and I will never stop.
The Teen’s Gambit: 1 d4 Nf6 2 c4 e6 3 Nc3 Bb4 4 g3, can you believe it!? Did Hans Niemann cheat? Or did Magnus Carlsen “behave like an entitled brat?” This is the best kind of drama: messy but also extremely low stakes for almost everyone.
When Can You Quit? “Always,” alleges shocking new garment. Supplies are dwindling but there are still a few larges left in both black and white! Don’t wait.
Finally: Our thoughts and prayers are with the people of Stow, MA “during this difficult time.” Stay strong, my brothers and sisters.
Today’s Song: Slaughter Beach, Dog, “104 Degrees”
~ better to remain silent and be thought a tab than to speak and to remove all doubt ~
If you ordered a t-shirt you should have gotten a shipping email already, and almost all of them went to the post office this morning. If you didn’t order one yet, you should not have gotten a shipping email, and if you did wooooOOOOooooo spooky. Better order right away to avoid a universe-destroying paradox.
Also the Season Seven playlist is now underway, and the seasons four, five, and six songs are all rolled up in one mega playlist, with more than 18 hours of uncah jahhhhms.
This is not true, I actually love it.