I felt compelled to post right here, right now. Normally many, many wonderful posts never make it here or are delayed, just because…umm…sorry…where was I? I think I was going to mention something about an attention span, or lack thereof. (I like thereof, as much as I like albeit, even steven no more no less, one seems a mashup, the other probably some sort of mashup after prolonged microwave exposure.) Yeah, so either it's an attention span thing, or laziness, or that same quality that tends to cause many of us to read those blurbish articles in the front pages of magazines, while forgoing anything that extends beyond two pages that isn't chock full of lovely pictures, unless of course we're in the loo, since we are then held captive by our own colon.
The reason I post, is Banksy. I could go to some lengths (albeit, short lengths (there's the albeit, and my calling card nested parentheses again)) to search to see whether I've mentioned Banksy before, here at TBIMB. I'm nearly certain, I have, but I choose to hypothesize without a definitive proof.
Yeah, Banksy. UK-based stencil artist, does the cute thing, does the political thing. Master of both stencil and switcharoo. Like Savior Faire, he indeed is everywhere. And now he fucks with the diamond-encrusted trainwreck that two consenting adults once begat and granted the moniker Paris Hilton.
Paris came out with a CD, apparently, she sings. I know this because I've heard it. Banksy says, let's have a little fun with Paris, since at this point he's probably the only one who hasn't.
To explain the rest would be like Aquaman explaining his actual summoning of a school of hammerhead sharks to yada, yada, yada. In other words, the links tell the story. If the links don't in this case, then there is no sense linking. We don't need no superhero voiceovers telling us what our eyes do a much better job of.
I end sentences with of. I did it again of. That last one didn't need the of. Nor that one.
Of.
There's like 30 blog posts floating around in my head, yet none of them have been able to win their battle of king of the hill to reach the apex of my cerebrum, I'm a little bit right-brained and a little bit left-brained, I bat righty and throw lefty, and have a bipolor condition with complexities that somehow make the Yankees vs. Red Sox not completely cut and dry. That said, the separate mililiters of cream rising to the top lie somewhere in the middle, that slight fissure or fold between the two cortexes (Is that what they're called? Is the plural form cortices? corti?) which with the nature of fissures is not quite the highest point within my skull. Expect something involving the IRS, the MoMA, Joe Franklin, YouTube, Melanie Martinez, cheeseburgers, a possible revisit to my micro Rocketboom obsession, or possibly some grand unification theory involving all the former (I'd say 'above', but some of those things may fall to the left). All from this little curio shop on the Internet, that walks the line between not so great, and not so bad.
The fairer side of 
…with a new 
Sadly I am removing the link to the columns of Hunter S. Thompson located at the ESPN web site. Rather than continuing to allow free access to the dear man's words and wit (and sometimes, bile), one must be an