So there's a benefit show tonight for the worst magazine falling on hard financial times in 2009, Paste Magazine. I know, I know. In 2009, we should be celebrating anybody that's willing to put out a piece of printed material. I mean, look who you're talking to, fer chrissakes!

But no, I can't lock step with people that endorse shit. I've fought in the punk rock trenches too  long to let this sleeping dog (or rather dying and/or decaying dog) lie. Fuck. That.

Two years ago, back when their coffers were flush with money from Fat Possum and Luaka Bop ads, we shot across their bow. And sure, we live mere miles from their headquarters. I don't care. And sure, their boat is sinking, but I'm firing across their bow again. Fuck it. This bitch has got to sink.

And let me say right now that if you've ever been a follower of Paste Magazine (other than for research purposes or morbidly curious reasons) and also read Chunklet, I don't want you as a supporter of our endeavors. If you've never read Paste, you're a lucky person and/or somebody that's never been stuck at the Memphis Airport. Either way, you win.

Furthermore, I'm not hiding behind a computer when I write this. I am making an open challenge to anybody from Paste Magazine to a debate about their merit versus the merit of Chunklet. It'd be the ultimate spectacle. Editorial morons versus a Moron editor. The fight of the century. We'll charge at the door and kick the money towards the winner. I've already picked out the curtains I'd like to buy with the winnings! Ooooh! Am I picking a fight? Well, sure, I guess I am.

So without further ado, and with complete credit going to my friends on Facebook, here's a new revised list. *COUGH*

Q: What's the difference between a bucket of shit and Paste Magazine?

A: Nobody's dumb enough to have a benefit show for a bucket of shit.
There is none.
A free CD.
The staples.
A bucket of shit doesn't ask you for money.
Most people won't open a bucket of shit.
There is an off chance that a bucket of shit might contain nuts.
A bucket of shit can tell you more about what you like.
A bucket of shit doesn't like crawl up Ryan Adams' ass and set up camp.
In five years people will still know what a bucket of shit is.
More work goes into a bucket of shit.
If someone has a bucket of shit under their arm you might think they're crazy but you don't instantly hate them.
A bucket of shit doesn't try to convince you to buy a Jack Johnson CD.
A bucket of shit only requires one asshole, not a building full of them.
The bucket of shit just might have a well designed cover over it.
A bucket of shit has substance.
At least flies are attracted to a bucket of shit.
A bucket of shit has staying power, especially downwind.
A bucket of shit doesn't have lofty aspirations.
A Fat Possum can't carry a bucket of shit.
I'd donate money to save a bucket of shit.
A bucket of shit grew weary of Uncle Tupelo a long time ago.
A bucket of shit has potential.
A bucket of shit doesn't have a specially designed logo that always reminds me of the edgy lust for life present at the salad bar at whole foods.
A bucket of shit represents spoils of a fruitful effort.
A bucket of shit has useful fertilizing possibilities.
A bucket of shit is most definitely not insipid.
A bucket of shit never tried to rip off NME.
It's possible for a bucket of shit to have been made by a talented writer.
You can't use the discounted media mail rate when shipping a bucket of shit via the USPS.
People who stare at a bucket of shit are far better informed.
A bucket of shit knows more about typography.

Now seriously, Paste. Die.