I’ve arrived at that point in my life where I desire an animal-shaped mailbox. I need a free-standing, preferably solid concrete, mailbox to place at the end of the driveway, shaped like an animal with the mail-receiving receptacle in its mouth or belly area. I need this immediately. Cost is no concern. It does not matter if the animal is not native to these environs. In fact, it would please me all the more if it were from some exotic, far-off locale and its actual appearance in my neighborhood would be startling and dangerous to both the community and the creature itself. I want people to stare. (Not at me. At my mailbox.) I’ve narrowed the list down to three choices: Manatee Hairless Rhino Monkey Pile of Obviously Dead Lemurs I plan on ordering all three (they’re...
Author - Chris Weagel
Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.
The cough drop industry has been revolutionized in recent years thanks to a series of breakthroughs in the flavor-glaze sector. No longer do cold sufferers have to endure a metallic berry taste in their mouths for days on end. Now, with approval from their doctor or rabbi, they can enjoy the smokey flavor of gas-grilled kielbasa sausages and deer steaks from their throat lozenge. They'll feel good and be pleasant to be around. No more locking the door from the outside for three weeks with a bucket and two copies of People Magazine to comfort you. No, with these great tasting cough drops you can be around people again. And tell them lie after lie about your cough drops tasting like expensive cuts of holiday meat and costing 5 times what those fancy Zinc-filled drops run. AND THESE PEOPLE...
I'd like to construct an enormous, Netherlands-style Windmill on my front lawn to help in my amateur cheese production.
I'm not sure about permitting or wind patterns or if I even like to eat cheese.
But I am looking for a gigantic eyesore and liability machine to compliment the smoldering clam bake pit I turned the driveway into last January.
I spoke to a man yesterday who walks around Muslim neighborhoods throwing copies of the New Testament at houses in hopes of saving souls and staving off a holy war. He's even taken it upon himself to learn Arabic so he can deliver the good news to any and all Muslims he meets anywhere in the world.
He's obsessed with Muslims and Islam and the fear that they will barge through his door and kill his family and steal his gold.
Although quite noticeable, I did not question him on his Velcro shoes.
He didn't give me a bible.
It's always a thrill to burn trash. Your trash, your neighbor's trash. Stuff your neighbor owns that he doesn't yet know is trash. Tools and rakes he's using right now, in his hand this very moment. FWOOSH! Burn it all! It's cleansing. Like dumping poison into a beautiful star. All the bad memories, all the feelings of inadequacy - it all returns to the universe - primal elements. Same thing with forest fires you set when you're bored. Especially after you've piled mountains of used tires out near the mineral springs. The fire makes it all go away. And with such little effort. Just boom! Nothing but the fresh smell of pine chips, slowly roasting their way back to hell. And birds. If only there were a way to get birds to burst into flame in mid air. Maybe some kind of laser or microwave...
You're saying I get to design my own board game? I do? I without the pretty thumbs? I can include as many dice as I want? Even 7? So that each player has to roll for the player seated to her left if they wish to advance? What if I were to include biting as part of normal gameplay? Would it be acceptable for the game board itself to be split down the middle - one side lavishly appointed, with Pop-Up, Real Plastic Villages and Forests with lighted Elf Towns and a Water Wheel and Pop-o-Matic Everything all done in silver - while the other side is left gray and flat and dryer than a Mid-Century Church Paper? And what if I demanded that all commercials for my board game featured children whose mouths were stuffed full of unhealthy marshmallows so that they had to deliver their (many) lines...
What could you be sad about on this terribly hot July Wednesday? You've got your box lunch with plastic-wrapped pickle. There were no dents or visible water damage to the box exterior. The food's safe, nutritious and, although gray in appearance, it was selected and organized by an inhuman computer. No mistakes. It only understands vitamin and calorie counts, not human joy. You can only expect so much in this price range. Just think how you'd feel if you were one of the unlucky few that were actually fed to the computer to keep it running at top performance. Oh. I see. You'd rather have a slice of pear in your lunch than a section of industrial carpeting. But the computer builds the meal around your specific metabolic needs. Just take little bites and wash it down with the Brine Water...