By adam on Sep 15, 2013 in Current Events, Weird Stuff
Welcome to Duluth.
(Image courtesy of Tyler Scouton.)
The LPOE makes that block a lot more fun than another restaurant or brewpub would. In your face, respectable people!
“St. Carlson” -- give me a fucking break!
Does something say “St. Carlson”? That would be even funnier.
No, I was just mocking how a drug dealer somehow finds himself on the same level as Che Guevara.
So funny. Next he should put up a picture of himself on a cross.
He could start selling Jesús Malverde-esque candles with his likeness.
I came up with the idea for this picture and we had a short run of stickers and shirts made. Jim came to our Bratwurst Homegrown show at RT’s and I gave him a shirt. He took this image and ran with it.
Carlson’s no Che … sheez.
You all asked for it, “Last Supper on Earth” by the famous Italian Master, Bacigalupo.
That spice is bad news, this coming from a former spicehead. Worse than heroin (never did that, but I’ve been told). Thing is he did have a right to sell it, what one puts into one’s body is that person’s choice alone. At the what-you-call-it public meeting at the Sheraton this summer listening to all the downtown business owners was like listening to my kids whining about and tattle tailing who did what to the other. Grow up bitches, you own a business, you’re a capitalist, deal with the free market.
Being a capitalist is one thing, but Carlson is trying to make himself into a martyr for the people.
You are able to sell drugs thanks to a legal loophole. You are nothing greater than that.
Drug dealers have the moral high ground as compared to capitalists. The martyr thing is pure B.S. though.
He looks like Throw Mama From the Train.
He looks like the entire movie Throw Mama From the Train? Wow.
How many of you have been around long enough to remember Ferris Alexander?
I’ve been around long enough to know that the sandbox is not big enough for people like Ferris, Jim’s dad -- Bob, and now Jim. Am I missing anyone? Legal issues or not, Duluth is certainly tired of Jim. Take your shovel, sell your sandcastle, and beat it.
I’m not tired of Jim. I’m diggin’ it all.
I’ve learned a lot about the sanctimonious, self-contradictory heart of mainstream society by watching Jim defy it.
And if I use the phrase ‘Danny Does Dog Shit’ in my new poem, that’s making magic with something we poets call alliteration Danny. Same as when I use a phrase like Danny Doo Dah Day, or Danny Tattle Oh Day, those are all examples of a technique called alliteration Danny.
If you actually write a poem containing the line “Danny Does Dog Shit” I will pay for a signed copy.
But yeor right Danny Boy, it does look like Ol Jimmy’s been thrown from the train!
Ramos, do you think Carlson has the soul of a poet too?
No, but I think I do.
Danny Does Dog Shit
A sculptor named Danny P. Golden
Admired the poop he was holdin’;
“It came from a pug,”
He said with a shrug,
“And nothing works better for moldin’.”
(Signed copies available for $20)
A single tear…
The poor wife of Danny P. Golden
Gave him a rather fierce scoldin’:
“I don’t mind a bit
If you mold Fido’s shit,
But our towels you have to quit foldin’!”
I doubt Dr. Che Guevara would have approved of the poison Carlson sells.
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