Chris Weagel writes about the intersection of technology and parenting for Wired Magazine. No he doesn't. He can't stand that shit.
Jealous much, Republican’ts?
Of course they are—they can barely stand it—and it’s such a delightful farce to watch these craven shits lashing out like the angry losers they truly are. Even some die-hard Fox News viewers are (probably) starting to suspect what everyone else has known all along: THESE PEOPLE ARE SCURRILOUS FUCKS.
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Living in the international and lawless border town of the Motor City, one is heavily aware of the existence of Canadian Holidays. You feel them all over, not just in the brain. These are often the crooked twin or haunting echo of common American holidays. Canadian Thanksgiving, for example, falls a few weeks prior to American Thanksgiving and instead of a turkey dinner it centers around burning of all of one’s furniture in the driveway while speaking only in vowelless words. Living north of Canada as we do, we often join in the celebration of these peculiar days. Canada’s Boxing Day is a favorite whose great event is, naturally enough, a group beating of the local pastor, topped off with permission to drink chocolate syrup directly from the bottle. There are also Canadian...
Found on the back porch tonight, wrapped in plastic, with no return address save for thirteen smiley face stickers: 3 Months of Prescription Drugs. Mostly kidney pills. Multiple bottles and sizes. Pharmacy labels scraped off by fingernail. No note, no dosage chart. Somewhere someone is hacking up gray mess and peeing polka dots.
Not wanting to directly taint the town’s water supply, I plan on smuggling them into the local petting zoo and feeding them to the goats. It will require many trips, spread out over months.
RESOLVED
I plan buying an annual membership to the town’s petting zoo.
There, I feel much better.
I lived in a county in northern Michigan where napkins were illegal. They weren't allowed. Paper, cloth, decorated, or dirty, you could not use them or own them. I lived there for four years. It's where I learned how to bend metal into shapes that satisfied me. Each and every meal was an ordeal. You either used your shirt or the tablecloth or you ate with the precision of one of those scientists who "paints" pictures on atoms. Ice Cream Socials were nightmares. And there were plenty of them. Every two weeks the county commission was throwing another Ice Cream Social in honor of some indian chief their daddies had murdered and you were pressured to make an appearance. There I was in August wearing two turtle-necks so I'd have plenty of sleeve to wipe on and they'd hand me a cone stacked...
That great idea you’ve read so much about in the church papers, Floating Salad Bars? It’s all come asunder. It was announced this morning by the company, Innovative Initiatives, that they were shutting down for good after the fifth Floating Salad bar in a month had caught fire and injured three vacationers in Montana. This particular Floating Salad Bar was in use in an indoor swimming pool at the Lucky Shoe Holiday Inn hotel and like the others had constant problems from the beginning. Aside from the usual concerns over keeping the crutons dry, the hotel staff could never get buoyancy issues resolved involving the balance of the Hot Soup end and the fresh plates end and had suffered multiple capsize events prior to Saturday’s fire. The burns suffered by Pastor Wilcox...
Why did they stop with Gummi Worms? Why no Gummi Lice?
Where are you going?
Reader feedback is an important part of the new media universe. Below a recent comment from viewer QWIMBS on the Human Dog Promo: Shaba Da Daba Da, featuring Charlie Cropper at the Jon VanTorre Celebrity Roast:
You're fuckin retarted. If I ever! EVER see you on the streets.... i'm kicking you in the fucking balls!
from: QWIMBS 5 hours ago
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