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.
After the break, our exclusive interview with the Dollar Palace back office employee microwave.
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A group of concerned local businessmen have united once more for their annual caroling sessions. These are important civic figures responsible for the town's pig drowning pits, leather polishing operations and precious stone warming tents. They set the agenda and make sure things are kept running smoothly all year. These stewards ensure anybody caught mumbling through the pledge of allegiance are on the other side of city lines come sundown.
Donning festive “Santa Hats,” they march through the streets, voices aloft in joyous unison, bringing a message of hope and renewal. Harmoniously they chant, again and again, without deviation: “You Have No Choice, You Have No Choice.”
For up to 8 hours each night of advent.
It's a whole factory of tambourines, dammit! It's yours now! Nothing but tambourines, the means to make them and special rooms covered in animal furs in which to test them! Test the tambourines, I mean! Not the animal furs! Not much you can do with those! This here's a tambourine operation! You own it! You own all these tambourines! And gallons of tambourine oil!
Lifting this thing is always a struggle. But, I wanted a belt sander in the bedroom so I got a belt sander in the bedroom. I’m doing this with one hand because I don’t want to deal with the switch on the sweeper. It’s got a rubber grip that’s melting or turning into wax or something. I wash my hands enough for this climate. I’d have to stop everything, make an entry in the ledger, wash, dry and get all reoriented. And I won’t lay the nozzle down because it grabs onto me and feels like it’s pulling open my scar. There’s not a lot of dust behind this thing but there’s enough dust to make things uncomfortable. I’m rocking the whole thing over to the left. Got it up on one foot. Now I can – now I can – Wait a minute! Ok I...
Rusty Waters finally got his wish today. The town wizard turned him into a solid chunk of gold. Rusty was killed instantly, of course, but his image stands forever now on main street, a horrible reminder to children of the dangers of fiat currency and what it does to a man's thinking. The gold Rusty is too heavy to move and the wizard has placed some kind of force field around him that feels like snake bites when you try to pierce it, so he's not going anywhere. Police have already begun routing circus and funeral trains around him.
Rusty just wanted to feel valuable. He wanted to feel important. And publishing his own monthly men's health and lifestyle magazine with a focus on naked airplane rides wasn't enough.
It never is.
The practice of tying live horses to public statuary has resumed in these parts. Groups of men use large leather belts normally reserved for shave taverns to lash the beasts to fountains and monuments around the city. Sometimes they paint the rear half of the horse solid black or yellow. They leave a few strong boys behind with sharpened canes to prevent do-gooders from rescuing the horses. Unfed and exposed to the elements, the beasts last at most two weeks during the winter. Once it has passed, the men allow the carcass to be covered in white sheets while it is consumed by glue traders and hoofsmen. They go to all this trouble, my Lord, because they claim it keeps away dark enchantments. The Lord God responds, “Is there still a Hardee's in this town? They have the best hash...
God lounges on clouds in his celestial palace. Flowing white robes, a short crop white beard and a barrel chest compliment his golden eyes and crystal teeth. “Oh let's see now, what are the humans into now? What busies them at this hour? Oh! Building a tower I see. Straight up to the heavens is it?..ah haw haw haw.” God's guffaws send shivers through the outer planets. “Oh haw haw, how they toil! Crumble tower! Crumble into the sea! Oh these humans. Fools all of them. I shall rain down bricks of gold on them…even in their last moments they are proud. Run humans! Run! Ahhh! Haw haw! Quickly, Gabriel, more fishes. More pleasures!” God's mightiest angel Gabriel pours an ocean of gasping trout into our Lord's mouth. “Oh these humans and...