Choir Master Margaret Ames has finally broken her silence on mustaches: They will not be tolerated on her singers.
You may begin reviewing your plans and redeploying resources as necessary.
Archive - August 2011
The Delmars are getting rid of all their canning jars. All of it. I was told over a fence last night that the Delmars are getting out the preserves business. They are sick of their apple slices tasting like vinegar. They’re switching over entirely to a Spanish Rice diet. They serve it up in ice cream cones and no one objects.
It’s all out there on the curb. Take it if you want it.
But don’t touch the mattress pile on the left. I saw Uncle William peeing on it yesterday.
Victor Duprix relishes the night. He wastes his entire day testing car door handles for Chrysler Automotive Corporation, and does a good job of it. His heart isn’t in it. Half the time he does the job with his eyes closed so he can enjoy a little bit more of the dark. Victor lives about a mile northwest of me, over in the Tanglewood district. He’s rented a room mounted on sticks above a backyard sewer grate behind the Jimmsons for over a decade. He could own three houses on his salary, but doesn’t have the desire. Instead Vic puts all his money and imagination into a sort of one-man electric light show sponsored by Oscar Meyer. Each evening he swallows a chain of rainbow christmas lights connected to car battery. His relaxed gag reflex makes this possible. Then he walks...
My neighbor, the honorable Honest Andy, is the inventor of the (now popular) Iron Man Medicine Ball Set. He’s responsible for the three ball, $98.99 with carrying case exercise set. I used to peek over the fence and see Honest Andy slaving away with his wet clays, sculpting each medicine ball to the perfect size, weight and dimensions. He works in a full three-piece suit, even in the depths of August. He created the Medicine Ball Set not out of a love of physical fitness, but out of a desire for family. The Poppa Ball, Momma Ball, and Baby Ball of the set stand in for the family he never had the courage to pursue in real life. Each night, while I’m sitting in total silence in the dark, I can hear him in his living room repeatedly apologizing to each of the original Iron Man...
There was just one famous face of 1801 and her name was Eunice. She stood right here, where I’m standing now, over 3000 years ago and invented the world’s first sticker.
It was a crude affair. Honey smeared on the back of a piece of tree bark upon which she had drawn something she called “The Bloody Eye of the Unforgiven.”
It was an immediate success which she followed up with a line of fuzzy easter animal stickers.
She died later that same day, crushed by the weight of several solid-lead books which were popular then.
Authorities aren’t sure exactly how many people here in St Clair Shores have been struck down by Almira Calhoun’s Disease, but they have forbidden all none-essential swimming and blocked off some streets altogether. The health department recommends a 72 hour cooling off period for all afflicted parties, so the barricades won’t come down until Thursday. And they’re probably gonna start grabbing the guns after that, anyway. They can have my guns, I don’t care. I have no interest in catching Almira Calhoun’s Disease or passing it on to the baby animals I’m responsible for down at the petting zoo. OK, OK, from Wikipedia: Almira Calhoun was a delightful woman who desired nothing more than to walk up and down stepladders all day while reading to the...
Tomorrow is a big day for local hero Steve Loddiger. As called for by the town charter, the police look the other way each August 30 and let Steve have a day for himself.
How does Steve Loddiger spend his special day?
On three folding tables set up in the front yard, he lays out his personal library – including encyclopedia sets and cookbooks – and stands there all day yelling at strangers, pointing to his books, “LOOK HOW SMART I AM! LOOK HOW SMART I AM! GET OUTTA MY COUNTRY!”
Come August 31, though, Steve’s back under the afghan behind the couch, quiet as can be, well aware that it’s back to “open season” for the police and local toughs on “his kind.”
“Who doesn’t have anger inside of him?” The Fiak family finally decided to carve that quote on the grave marker. They paired it with a laser-inscribed picture of Jose’s motorcycle and a tearful rose. He was calm on the outside and friendly to all. He always wore button down shirts and neat, black pants. His room was organized with two bibles and two combs on the dresser. He was widely recognized as one of the county’s brightest young dirt shovelers. But he felt too much. He always took everything too personal. The stars were too bright for Jose. Humanity’s stench was too strong. A man can only put up so many baby animal posters. And even they aren’t strong enough to hold back the lies. Jose was twenty three when, emotionally distraught, overtired...