DEPT: Blog

“It's an inflatable, cartoon football player. It's colorful. He's a quarterback. Had to get it. You can put him on the front lawn or back lawn. We keep him up all season. We're doing our part.”
I'm going to let that just hang there, in the air, so you can confront it.
Then I'm going to bring it down to earth with this:
“And he's got a light. He lights up. Right there in the head.”
America has decided: This Is The Way Forward.

The charity coin jug is filthy. Everyone is too ashamed to clean it. It's got more grime and dirt and dead spiders in it than quarters. Yesterday Alan dumped in thirteen, greasy bowling alley tokens. And he did it very slowly, one token at a time. He counted aloud as each one dropped in, so loud he was sure all could hear.
“This one's gonna cure Ugly Leg.” THUNK!
“This one's gonna cure The Gout.” THUNK!
“This one'll make your children love ya.” THUNK!
“You hear that, Janice?! Ehh!”
It went on all night. Eventually Hank wrestled him down and reminded him of his sins.
Still, nobody's gonna clean that jug.

Barber Chair Reintegration Specialist. That's what I do. That's what I am. I help former Barber Chairs who've gotten tired of or have otherwise renounced “the game” rejoin the company of other chairs. At dinner tables, on board buses, in some of our better theatres, wherever chairs congregate, I help these hulking, rigged-up, rusted spin piles find their place with the others.
I sent a barber chair, 76 model, to live with a family of benches in Mormon Utah. Took three weeks and a call from the Governor. But I did it.
Since I was a boy I've enjoyed placing furniture in close proximity to other, like furniture. Still do.

We're going to put a stop to this camping business right now. Before it gets out of hand. You pitch a tent on the roof, claim you like sleeping closer to the angels – it's bullshit. You don't like sleeping near your family. Their crooked eyes and bad taste in bedding shame you. You don't like the way they walk. You made them! That's you, that's your disfigurement, passed on towards the horizon. Feel it! Drape as many damp paper towels over their faces before the census man comes, it won't matter. Man sit down next your wife and eat that waffle. Eat it! I'm here to watch! You sleep on that roof looking for a cure. High altitude. Thin tent. Those cosmic rays won't bake your DNA. They won't do shit! You'll get a rash and then still be out of...

You…Horace…you have angered croquet mountain.

Before I got into this croquet business – which is a fine business, by the way, I've recommended it to my son – before I got into this, I used to design those subscription cards that fell out of magazines back in the 20th century. Did it by hand. It was a fine business. Real clear limits on creativity. Firm, very firm.

Croquet is distinguished by being one of the few games one can play entirely while seated at one's desk.
As above, so below.

And now we have the croquet-themed divorce.
[shakes head]
How far will America stray from God's love…?

It's been said it's not a proper Croquet game until you've first fallen down a flight of stairs.
And it has also been said a man cannot eat a helicopter without considerable regret. Now my knee has been troubling me for some time and if I could just get you to cup your hand around my left calf I'm going to push and that's it.
Oh there's a whipper.
Now, there, good. Tell me, now, how are the adoption rates in this city?

In, Montana…
“Yes, Bill?”
…they play croquet with bears. Real big ones.
“Bill, now don't get up, I just want to borrow this rain coat. It's brighter than mine.”
Get out of my yard.

A gentleman's game is croquet. A gentleman's dignity is his bib. A gentleman's glass eye collection is not discussed. A gentleman's laugh is his downfall.

And now, with roll call behind us, we can begin room and toiletry inventory. Remember to keep smiling at a minimum.