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It’s your old friend, Mack. I’m puffing away on my beloved hookah, Mona Lisa Vito, in the freezing cold garage, and in just a few short hours, you’ll take off from the North Pole like a bat out of hell. There’s a few things I forgot to ask for at the mall last week, and I thought I’d post them on the internet in case your sleigh has a wireless router ... read more |
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Tom, I think I speak for everyone when I say Fuck You. Since the 2005 break-up of Blink-182, you’ve pranced around on your pretentious high horse, trying to convince yourself and a few dozen ignorant followers that you’re the new John Lennon. You’re not. In fact, you’re nothing more than some douche who wrote a few catchy, three-chord punk songs about the small things. We’re no longer watching, we’re no longer waiting, and we’re definitely not commiserating ... read more |
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