A medium brown color field that, if stared upon long enough, will reveal the answer to every question ever asked by mankind.

I'm sorry, I'll have to drink it.

ben adrian
cranky geek

Either the old Harvest Records logo, or a nuclear cooling tower.

a lid

threthirtythree

a monkey who's at his wit's end with both hands on his head, big furrowed eye brows, and puckered lips with one of those text bubbles above his head that reads, "I'm getting tired of this monkey business!" Where the hell did this coffee cup come from anyway? I certainly didn't buy it.

aces.

Paulina Porizkova in a Calypso Coral Mustang Boss 302.

Jay

Someone's big rump, pointed skyward crack-first.

A group of ninjas, not smiling, killing a bunch a gay-ass pirates, who are crying their eyes out.

One of those paper sleeves that is Schilling for Paris, Texas' new record with well written reviews that say things like:

this stupid fucking cup sleeve wrote:"Furious punk guitars that sound more rock than emo stand out-there's much more bark than whine"

or

this stupid cup sleeve also fucking wrote:"Really Dynamic garage punk with an indie precision"

Gripping.

Salut! New Line Records, you cheapen us all.


Faiz

Every day, I see the best thing: blackness.

All these Electricals, so much the men among the men! So much the poker! So much the billiards! So much the T-shirt, she has no sleeves! But they are putting these things of the pussies in the coffees? What is the fuck?