The House on Wade Avenue

This is pretty awesome.

The house at 3215 Wade Avenue, about 15 minutes from downtown Raleigh, looks just like the rest of the houses in that neighborhood. A nice metal roof. Forest green window shutters. Doric columns line the front porch.

But there’s no driveway out front. And the lights are never on. And there’s no walkway to the front door.

Of course, none of those amenities are necessary, because this house is not a house at all.

There so much concentrated bizarre-awesome here I can’t stand it

Smoking Gun:

A domestic dispute over space aliens escalated Saturday morning when a lingerie-clad New Mexico woman allegedly pointed a silver handgun at her boyfriend, a weapon she retrieved from her vagina.

No, really. Even better, of course: the woman is Cormac McCarthy’s ex-wife, which led Gawker to pen this fantastic bit:

Aliens. Spacealiens. No such thing. How theyd fought it out, cosmic mysteries reduced to raw shouting in the uncaring morning. Her leaving in wrath and now returning, straight into the bedroom without him. Rustling and thumps.

She was in the doorway. She had stripped in there and dressed her body for the boudoir, soft ladyclothes baring flesh and something more, down at the forking of her legs. Hard nickelplate steel, the Smith & Wesson. Her hand was on it.

Whos crazy.

There’s more. Go read.



In the early years of the last century, the U.S. Congress considered a bold and ingenious plan that would simultaneously solve two pressing problems — a national meat shortage and a growing ecological crisis. The plan was this: hippopotamus ranching.

“I am leaving New York City because of all these goddamned wizards.”

Why I Am Leaving New York City has been open in my browser for months, but it still needs sharing.


Last year my building went co-op after it was bought out by a representative of the Unseelie Court. They turned the super into a burning brand and replaced him with Robin Goodfellow, a large, hairy man with a tail who performs housework in exchange for a saucer of milk and a place in front of the fire. He is the son of a witch and the Devil and he still hasn’t fixed my radiator even though I put in a written request in September.

“Just a dugout that my dad built / in case the Reds decide to push the button down.”

FOR SALE: 2-story 1970s Las Vegas home, complete with 15,200 underground basement finished as an entirely extra three-bedroom home. The lower home is fit for a king, or a hobbit king anyway: fake “yard”, swimming pool, putting green, BBQ grill, 360-degree mural approximating an outdoor view, and even “exterior” lighting to simulate sunset, day, or night — all 26 feet below ground. And it could be yours for the low, low price of $1.7MM.

It’s been a long time since I was this sorry I’m not stupid rich.

Via MeFi/