What's that sound? That's the sound of an accordion factory on fire.
Once you've heard it, you can never un-hear it.
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.
Is it possible to drown furniture? And if so, is that preferable to burning it?
Even if it doesn't belong to you?
One must only look at the US version of "democracy" to understand the goal: an apathetic citizenry deluded and distracted to the point of inaction, therefore making true democratic legislative functionality unnecessary.
If we openly stated that we are attempting to spread corporate oligarchy in the guise of democracy throughout the middle east, that would be the truth...and certainly TELLING THE TRUTH is out of the question.
SOURCE
Find your nearest enormous all-metal industrial stairwell. You must have one on the property. Gather all your flimsiest card tables AND all of your Deluxe Chinese Checkers Sets. You see where I’m headed with this. Set them all up at the top of the stairs. Gather dignitaries, photographers, trusted neighbors, and as many excitable animals as possible at the bottom of the stairs. Serve them Dixie cups of cheese soup. Do not ask if anyone is sensitive to dairy. Get on the PA system (you didn’t pawn it, right?) and make a number of Startling Revelations. These could be about the guests assembled downstairs, news of far-off military defeat, confessions and apologies to all the women you’ve hurt, anything along these lines. At the crescendo, violently kick the tables and watch...
What are you wasting your time with this week? So glad you asked.
What’s kept me busy has been the storage and preservation of TV dinner boxes from each meal I take alone with the TV. When I finish off all the sections I use scissors to carefully cut out the front, back, and side panels of the box featuring any logos, pictures and/or cooking instructions and press them flat under three phone books overnight. In the morning, with all distracting radios silenced, I affix the panels into album pages along with the date consumed and emotional state felt prior to and after eating the meal.
Then I return the binder to the shelf and sit quietly until the man comes in the morning for my bath.
NOW TEN CENTS OFF!
Right Now the Best We Can Do: Arrange all the Swedish to face east on the edge of the table after throwing all the old newspapers and trucker magazines on the floor.
Ever since Nine-Eleven I’ve been hoarding American flags. Full-size, 50-star, Double Vinyl US-American Flags, yes sir! Whenever I’d get some extra money I’d buy a few. I’d wait till after dark and never buy more than two at a time and spread my purchases across multiple stores through four counties. Didn’t want to cause any concern, didn’t want to make a stir. Never, ever bought any online. Not right. Now we come to the question of storage. As of Easter Sunday, I own forty-six thousand American flags. More than I want, not as many as I need. The closets are full, the attic is bursting, all the cubby holes have been filled and the front window displays – why as inventive as Nancy is with them – have become stale with the integration of so...