“What the heck do those lazy, pot-smoking, kinky- (possibly gay-) sex-having ‘progressives’ who work at the Bay Guardian do all day?” is a REALLY good question. Allow us to take you behind the scenes, for one lightning-flash moment. A peek through the green curtain, as it were.
Today’s blogtastic, syntagmatic Pixel Vision journey is brought to you by the letter S.
S as in Slayer.
One of our esteemed colleagues (cough-Eddy-cough) was sporting a nifty number in line with her kick-ass metal tastes, that looked akin to this:
Or this:
(The intellectual smoke was flying so fast from her that she couldn’t stay still long enough for me to get a pic.)
It was remarked by another member of our staff (sneeze-Duncan-sneeze) that Slayer’s mascots often resembled “undead fraggles.”