Filed under: Strange Days | Tags: abe lincoln, Busey, Gary Busey, Strange Days, the internet
Ladies and Gentlemen,
We here at the internet are known to be the most talented and compulsive hypemasters since Flavor Flav. Every two or three days, the internet (not our internet, the whole thing) bequeaths unto us something so strange-mazing that we are compelled to describe it as the digital equivalent of the return of a non-zombie jesus. Well, that was all bullshit. I give you the Gary Busey Soundboard. Use it with caution
"I'm being guided by invisible forces"
Filed under: News, Strange Days | Tags: border wars, cancun, CBS, drug lords, drug wars, Fordham University, katie couric, no regrets, spring break, Strange Days
the paper...featured on CBS Evening News
See video here: http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=4875079n
We at the paper had a lot of aspirations for Spring Break. Originally, we were going to roadtrip out to the great midwest to see the rock-opera sensation Rod Blagojevich Superstar, only to be thwarted due to conflicting schedules between our break and our youth hostel (read: my sister’s house). A few of us embarked on an adventure to Montreal to discover the Canadian Dream (which of course ignores the fact that Quebec might as well be an entirely fucking different sovereign state, but that’s neither here nor there). The reamining of us, however, decided to go into the depths of Cancun in a gonzo journalism exposé on the border war in Mexico. Unfortunately, some sleeper broadcast cell known as CBS News snatched the story out from under us. However, they at least had the courtesy to give us a little shout out. Keep your eyes peeled around the 40 second mark (then read Alex Gibbons’ article on it here!).
-Cardos
Filed under: Arts, Edits, News | Tags: biggest piece of shit, Bono, fordham, Get on your boots, No Line on the Horizon, Strange Days, u2
They said it couldn’t be done, but we showed them. With a few hushed words to the man upstairs via noted theologian Fr. Joseph McShane, our beloved Edward’s Parade will host the hottest Radiohead cover band from their side of the Prime Meridian. Verified by the paper’s “deep throat” at Interscope Records, the dad-rock troupe will take to whatever performance platform they will be taking to (read: probably Keating steps) succeeding their appearance on Good Morning, America. So get out your most obnoxious pair of sunglasses and dust off that old copy of Joshua Tree you have laying around Fordham, because next Friday we are all Bono.
Turns out that Bono and the Jesuits have been tight for ages. YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH
We at le papier have a love of the strange. So naturally, after we watched a pelican eat a pigeon, we wanted to see other things eat other things. Then we saw this duck get eaten by this fish. Brilliant.
Filed under: Edits, Sports, Strange Days | Tags: football, NFL, school, Sports, Strange Days, thanksgiving
It’s been a bit of a rough night for those of us named Sam Wadhams. First my beloved Green Bay Packers got absolutely shelled by Drew “allergic to dairy, wheat, gluten, and eggs” Brees, the quarterback for the leading team in my fantasy league.
Even founder of the Wadhams clan, Servilius Euphronius Wadhams, had a bad day once in a while.
A 21-51 loss is humiliating enough, but having to listen to Tony “Foot-Ball?” Kornheiser call the game was almost more than I could bear. At one point he claimed that, due to the numerous injuries to the Saints, they were “picking people up on Bourbon St. on Thursday and putting them in uniform”. This garbage excuse for commentary seemed to offend Ron “Jaws” Jaworski, unfortunately, not enough so that he would grab Kornheiser by the ears and throw him face first through the glass of the booth like he deserves. I do love him on PTI though. So after that crap-humiliating, possibly season-ending loss, I settled in to write a 5 page “industry report” on Esquire magazine, despite almost no knowledge of what an “industry report” is. Tomorrow I get to drive six hours home in the “rain” that will undoubtedly turn to sheet upon sheet of black ice as I get into the colder, darker, northerly territory of my home. But at least I’ll be well reste… oh. At least I’m not being kept up by rats scurrying around my ceilin… oh. Fuck you, Fordham. Fuck you. Fuck my life.
