Back in late March, Carrie Miller was riding home on Guadalupe when she was struck by a hit-and-run driver and thrown from her bike. The driver, whose passenger side mirror struck Miller, may not have stopped, but he left her with a key piece of evidence -- evidence that would lead Miller back to her own apartment building.... [continue]

*The views expressed in Truesday are those of the author and do not represent Austinist as a whole. Thank heavens.* -The Editors You can’t deny- The other side- Don’t want to die- Any more than we do. What I’m trying to say, Is don’t they pray- To the same God that we do? Tell me how does God choose? Whose prayers does he refuse? Who turns the wheel- Who throws the dice- On the... [continue]

"Tales Of Mere Existence" By Levni Yilmaz XXX Buy a Comic/DVD set from Lev! http://www.ingredientx.com/buy/main.htm For more comics, animations and correspondence, kindly visit http://www.ingredientx.com If you gravitate towards isolated, obsessive nerd habits like I do, also consider a visit to: http://www.myspace.com/tales_of_mere_existence... [continue]

To quote the poetry oft-spewed by Tim's Molson Gold-swilling step-dad, we were "Young, dumb, and full of come."... [continue]

or most of us who simply go to work, ruthlessly stab our livers, mow our lawns, and try to find enough time to fight off sleep deprivation, voting is the most impact you will likely have on the world you live in. SO GO. Vote your brain. Vote your heart. Vote your history. Vote your soul. I don’t care, just go vote for something. STAY FOR THE CAUCUS!!!... [continue]

When Norman Mailer and Hunter Thompson wrote about political showdowns, they were incapable of resisting the fight metaphor. They knew that there is no such thing as a contest of ideas, a balanced measure of experience and aptitude. That a political debate is most akin to boxing, that it’s both a brawl and a dance. But if a political debate is tantamount to a heavyweight title, then it is one cast in negative: Even if he wins, Americans don’t want to see their man take too many shots on the chin.... [continue]

"Tales Of Mere Existence" By Levni R. Yilmaz Esq Buy a Comic/DVD set from Lev! http://www.ingredientx.com/buy/main.htm For more comics, animations and correspondence, kindly visit http://www.ingredientx.com If you gravitate towards isolated, obsessive nerd habits like I do, also consider a visit to: http://www.myspace.com/tales_of_mere_existence... [continue]

Yeah, while you and your other bubble people are mercilessly burning the ghosts of dinosaurs long since passed, I’m out here inhaling your shit results. And man, I gotta say, it makes me feel like a better person than you. Like, Jesus better. While your mouth is all agape with impressedness, go ahead and roll down your window, Rapunzel. Let down your ratty mane of ignorance. Take a long gander at moral superiority. Check my dope shades. Smell the sweat. Yeah. Suck it in. ... [continue]

I wonder: why wouldn’t the APD drug cop and the data miner want the world to know what they’re up to? They’re heroes, after all! Cleansing our streets of the dreaded indoor weed farmer. They should be proud. They're like The Punisher and Microchip.... [continue]

Hopefully you didn't skip your daily jog on the trail today so you could rush home and make dip for your debate viewing party. If you did, you missed the opportunity to share your famous french onion recipe with (temporary Austinite) Senator Obama while he got in a gingerly stroll. Photos courtesy of Romain Nayalkar. If you can't view the Flash slideshow above, an alternate version appears after the jump.... [continue]

For a year now it’s been a strange coexistence with these beasts of inconvenience. It’s not like I’d crack open a box of cereal and they’d pour out in a waterfall of crippling disappointment. Or that they’d even be found in the kitchen at all. Normally I’d find one pathetically backstroking on the floor tile in my hallway, and then dispose of it neatly. But every once in a while there’d be an adventurous fucker that would show up on the ceiling above our bed, as we were going to sleep, threatening to drop down like some crazed black-ops periplaneta. All hell would break loose for an hour or so until I could get the thing quarantined and dismissed. Neither of us would sleep for an hour after that. ... [continue]

Two months ago, we let you know about the Austin Chronicle's annual Short Story contest, open to aspiring writers from Texas and the world. This Wednesday, the winners will be unveiled at a BookPeople gala, catered by Austin Java. ... [continue]

It shouldn’t take more than 350 words to explain why I intended to vote Ron Paul for President, and roughly two words to explain why there’s now no chance in hell.... [continue]

Nothing quells the squabbling mass’s ire like a fat check. You want those three dudes who pissed in your gym locker to change their tune? Buy them off. You know what will impress the volleyball team? Bomb-ass circuses. What do all bouncers and voters in Florida understand when it comes to deciding whether they like someone or not? Bread. Dinero. Duckets. Dosh. Some-other-D-word-for-money. That’s a uni-goddamn-versal hand-shake that says “if you didn’t believe in my powers of affable superiority before, perhaps the fact that I can magically produce some money for your wallet will change your mind.” ... [continue]

Do you ever think as the hearse goes by, that you will be the next to die?... [continue]

I don’t believe I’m properly equipped to "welcome" myself after yet another year of meeting with you on Tuesdays (sometimes Wednesdays, Thursdays, Whateverdays). And it’s not easy to express my gratitude to people I’ve never met. People who have so many different reasons for being here, for something so irreverently personal. So I’ll defer my copy to the illustrious Mr. Samuel Clemens, as he handed thanks to the Lotus Club in 1908.... [continue]

Just before 3am, Ronald Hood sprints down Red River, the street lamps wobbling into stratified halos with each spongy footfall. The pills make it so he has no idea how fast he’s going, or how far the cops—well, he can hear them shouting still, but they could be right behind him or fifty yards back. Almost lost, or just about to bring him down by his sweat-soaked collar.... [continue]