Next week, we present a very special apoplectic.me. This would be a great time to sign up for alerts on the right-hand side of the page — or even better, more whimsical and personal extra content in the Tiny Letter distribution.
It’s Saturday, 15 February as I write this, sitting in Loudon’s Cafe. I’m listening to early Billy Bragg, when — and he’s doing it again recently — his fascist-killing guitar machine did the job of all four members of The Clash. And this is from a John Peel session, so it’s got that fab “Billy live” sound.
Have you had enough time to recover from the last sex-themed post? Do you want some more? OK…. A couple of weeks ago, apoplectic.me contributed to the tsunami of sexual content on the internet, in a fairly G-rated (or U-rated, depending on your location) post. Well, maybe not a tsunami. It’s not like sexual content has suddenly burst onto the interwebz like a firehose, spraying effluvia all over your laptop. No, it’s more like the Great Pacific garbage patch — an endless build-up of material that’s probably in excess of 5,800,000 sq mi.