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About: Murphy


Posts by Murphy:

How Louis C.K. ruined Louis C.K. for me

April 6th, 2013 by

“Atheists are arrogant,” says half-bright comedian


C.K. does his impression of Rick Santorum

Life in Buffalo is a relentless shit-show. Unless you’re excited by awful sports teams, there’s not a lot of quality entertainment around, so on the rare occasion a comedy genius rolls through town you go. You just go. And for two hours you get to forget you live in Buffalo. Sadly, not very long into his set, Louis C.K. did a bit that left me acutely aware of where I was, how much I overpaid for my ticket, and why our species is so utterly fucked. Read More


Murphy’s Law: “Get out of jail free” edition

March 13th, 2013 by


“Hey, boss! I didn’t get any toilet paper.” The 2:30 – 3:30 lockdown is imminent. And so is potentially explosive mud-butt.

“Hold your horses,” says the guard, bolting through Echo block. “I’ll get you some.”

“Thanks! The booklet says…” I trail off. He’s gone. The booklet also says I should have a pillow. Nope.

“Lockdown!” he shouts. That’s our cue to gtfo of the common area–a little hallway between a long set of bars and our individual cells. The block’s split in half, with 10 or 12 cells on each side. There’s only 3 other dudes in my half.  I welcome the solitude. The two older dudes are chill, but the younger dude thinks he’s hard, or maybe he is hard. He keeps looking me up and down, wearing an indiscernible expression between “let’s fuck” and “let’s fight.” Maybe it’s both. Maybe I’m just hyper-aware of my asshole because I’ve been damning a river of shit for hours. He’s just trying to size me up, in all likelihood. I cut my own hair last night. Hopefully, it gives off that dangerous-mental-patient vibe I was going for. And Judge Joe Brown does the rest. Read More


Murphy’s Law: $5,000 bail edition

March 6th, 2013 by

“Bang on that window again, motherfucker, and see what the fuck happens!” the bald cop barks at me.

“But–but,” I turn to my new cellmates, incredulous. “you–he just let me in here to piss! My bail’s been paid!”

“Watch them process you all over again,” one guy jokes–says. “They don’t give a shit.”

Fear washes over me. I was locked in this room six hours ago–the first in a series of seemingly arbitrary cages the pigs herd you through at the Erie County Holding Center. I’d been bussed here with eleven other dudes from the courthouse across the street, handcuffed to a black kid who looked like he was about fourteen. But I can never tell how old black people are. Or how tall they are. I find professional basketball incredibly confusing. Read More


The 50 Most Loathsome Americans

February 12th, 2013 by


50) Aaron Sorkin
Charges: Won’t stop writing like Aaron Sorkin. More Sorkin with each Sorkin. Like that scene in Being John Malkovich, every Sorkin character is a Sorkin-headed Sorkin shrieking, “Sorkin!” in coked-up, Asperger-esque Sorkinese–speed-walking through saccharine, ahistoric morality plays in which triangulation evokes lofty scores, social change is effected solely by limousine liberals, and hackneyed drama is typically measured in rainfall.
Smoking Gun: “The Newsroom.”
Sentence: His fresh cup of Chris Matthews’s spittle secretly replaced with Folgers crystals. Will he Sorkin the Sorkin?!

49) Jim Lehrer
Charges: The PBS Punching Bag, the Denver Dodderer, the Moderating Mute came out of semi-retirement only to spare Obama the title of “most incompetent performance in a debate,” and play Rihanna to Romney’s Chris Brown. The king of NewsHour’s horrendous phony balance coverage, it’s no surprise that his toughest question was meant to determine if the candidates were, in fact, two different people.
Smoking Gun: “…”
Sentence: An eternity of brunches with Charlie Rose.

48) Chris Brown
Charges: Aggravated assault. The Todd Akin of pop stars. Twitter, Halloween, Frank Ocean, something, something. I just can’t bring myself to care about this half-talented jerk.
Smoking Gun: Battered woman neck tattoo.
Sentence: A fatal case of Bieber Fever.

47) Rihanna
Charges: Guuuuuuuuuurl?! Worst role model for girls since Batter-Me-Barbie. Not technically American.
Smoking Gun: See above.
Sentence: Stockholm Syndrome, apparently.

46) Peggy Noonan
Charges: As the Journal‘s postmenopausal Carrie Bradshaw, the full depth of her political analysis is that “America doesn’t date losers.” Tied to Romney big-money advisor Paul Singer (who pushed Ryan onto the ticket) through the Manhattan Institute, her call for a campaign “intervention” was but a brief, self-serving departure from being wrong about everything, always. Terrible writer. Unbearably pretentious.
Smoking Gun: “The GOP still practices primogeniture, but much else has changed in politics.”
Sentence: Chief speechwriter for Clint Eastwood’s Barcalounger. Read More


Breaking: men want to fuck teenage girls

October 21st, 2012 by

Reddit, perverts, free speech, privacy, toughtcrime, misogytrolling™, and my own personal ignorance all wrapped up in an article that’s way too long for anyone to read…which is probably for the best


Let’s start with one of my favorite tunes. “Smut” by Tom Lehrer:

Okay then. Time to make myself a moral pariah. Again.

Interesting exposé by Gawker’s Adrian Chen is interesting. Since you’re on Internet, I presume you’ve read it. But, anyway, it’s about one Michael Brutsch. He lives in Texas. Has Had some shitty job. Just a normal guy who likes to anonymously propagate jack-off pics — up-skirts, ripped Facebook bikini shots, etc. — of unwitting underage girls on the Reddit. He’s also into “Niggerjailbait” and “rapebait” stuff. He’s the Internet’s most prolific peddler of taboo. Well, he used to be, before Chen outed him.

Now we’re left with a truly interesting debate on exploitation, smut, free speech, sexuality, anonymity…heavy ethical shit. Read More


1st rule of debate club: don’t bring notes to debate club

October 5th, 2012 by

You’re not allowed to bring notes to a debate, but Mitt Romney does what Mitt Romney wants:

And that’s why he’d be an excellent president.

UPDATE: People are saying that it’s a handkerchief, but it looks pretty damn stiff to me, and there’s no definitive proof one way or the other.


UPDATE-UPDATE: The mystery object in question was, in fact, neither a handkerchief, nor a cheat-sheet; it was Obama’s Kenyan ghost father! We sincerely regret the error.

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