We've seen Kermit the Frog ride a bicycle. Where do you go from there? Eventually the quest for more leads you to become the law-breaking CEO of a Coal Mining Company that pulverizes entire mountains so that the population at large can continue to post amusing hot dog photos on Tumblr. How did that frog ride a bike? He doesn't have ears. How does he balance? Pondering some mysteries will pulverize your mind. Each clue makes the mind work harder, the soul burn more fuel. There is no relief. The water isn't supposed to make you thirstier! It's supposed to make you clean! The water is not supposed to speak the words of all that ever lived every time you dip under to touch your toes in the pool to make sure they still belong to you. Kermit didn't even wear shoes on that bike. He had no fear...
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.
We're only a few weekends away from the annual St. Clair Shores Punching Festival. It's a great time of seasoned meats and pure aggression. We as a community store up most of our rage through the dark, cold months, then erupt every June in a fury of punches directed at abandoned cars, old furniture and civil servants. Everyone is given a 12 hour pass by local law enforcement so long as nothing gets burned. And even then, if they do catch you torching a tool shed, the most the cops do is sucker punch you in the kidneys a few times and leave you in a heap. It's a great time and the local merchants love the extra foot traffic. Drive over or bring the boat if you can and we'll bloody our knuckles against a bust of old St. Issac down at the abandoned Catholic church. The festival underscores...
I was going to scan in a coupon for 20¢ off a Sliced Roast Beef dinner plate at the Beefeater and post it here but I left it in my pocket when I did laundry last night. Now I'm not even sure I can use it.
Really disappointed. It doesn't have any expiration date and I was saving these two dimes to throw at the Pope.
We're in the depths of Spring here in St Clair Shores. With Spring comes the warm weather. With the warm weather come the Ice Cream Trucks. Normally they creep through the neighborhood to a crude loop of The Entertainer. Since 2pm Saturday an Ice Cream Truck has been parked in front of my house. Parked. No music, no motion. It just sat there. All day. And all night for all I know. It was there when I got up on Sunday and it's still there now, Monday morning. The Ice Cream Man sits there at his window, thumbing through a copy of Popular Mechanics. Every so often he looks up at my house with a scowl. The truck is filled with ice cream. It's not a decoy. It's filled with Ice Cream this Ice Cream Man refuses to sell. I know. I asked. He just glared at me in silence. I even offered him double...
“Do you remember any Wall Street bankers being dragged off in handcuffs when they blew up the financial system and bilked people out of trillions of dollars?”
SOURCE
I’d like to dig a huge hole, push western civilization into it and cover it with 45,000lbs of sand and concrete.
Self-congratulatory morning radio was the winner this time.
