THIS IS THE BLOG OF THE HUMAN DOG.
THIS IS IMPORTANT EVIDENCE OF THE END OF THE WORLD.
ALSO THE OCCASIONAL RECIPE.
THANK YOU.
Roland went to the mountain and returned with a huge boulder. He pushed it all the way back, across three time zones.
“Every man is entitled to defend himself. They can't get within 50 feet of me.”
Roland hasn't seen his parents in years. They doted on his brother with the misshapen ear. Roland was left to play with chains out behind the garage.
“Get out. I won't drive with a pussy.”
Let us wallow in our favorite Lost Causes:
Halloween Candy kept in the freezer in hopes of preventing further hauntings.
Finishing that novel that doesn't make use of the word “Yelping.”
Public Aquariums.
Reopening the roller skate factory.
Petitioning the Vatican for permission to use the word “pew” in mixed company.
Scraping the residue from the inside corner windshield sticker promoting Dad's failed sticker-making business and still functional but abandoned sticker-making machine.
Many thousands of years ago Sir George Washington himself, our first and noblest grand chief, personally slaughtered all of the Ojibwe Indians.
Images like this restore my faith in this troubled land. Can you comprehend the brilliance of this image? Can you pinpoint what makes this display capital A Art? Don't just skip to the end, really think this through. It's a tough call. The obvious answer is the banana slices in the jell-o block. That is wrong. Others may point to the violently generic Milk Carton with minimal side decoration. Some may favor the compartment plate that not only prevents flavor contamination but also keeps the pea pile primed and pert. Rarer is the eagle eye that points out the double napkin provision, ensuring ample wiping surface (an often overlooked but crucial element for achieving total relief during eating). All of those are valid, but what really makes this photograph of a bland, institutional...
Science has yet to eliminate those little hairs on the underside of your tongue.
Remember that when the geniuses say you're behind the times for not living in an upside down split-level in southern Ohio with only fish for neighbors made by Apple.
You will encounter certain people in life who refuse to put any kind of reasonable effort into whatever job you may be working on together. They will also resent your extra effort and commitment. They will undercut and undermine your efforts and ridicule the very notion of dedication and hard work at every opportunity. What these walking shits fail to recognize is that quality, engaging, and robust miniature golf courses do not build themselves. They do not maintain themselves. The cement elephant will not paint itself pink each spring. The candles in the giant skull don’t relight on their own after each thunderstorm. These details take discipline to achieve and maintain. These are the details and polish that set your miniature golf course apart from Uncle Walley’s backyard...
Working backwards, my present situation can ultimately be traced back to the decision almost eight years ago to eat a whole, raw onion in front of the Governor during her Easter morning address. If only I’d chosen a less abrasive vegetable or turned my head when biting down, perhaps things would’ve turned out differently. Perhaps if I had decided to go around in public offering the whole onion (and others like it) to strangers instead of eating it myself, perhaps I’d be on the right end of a MacArthur fellowship and not trudging through this enormous parking lot with two, overstuffed filing cabinets attached to my legs.
Perhaps.
For a fun team building project during lunch today, I'd like each person to contribute some part of their meal to a big slag heap in the center of the table. I'd like the pile to be at least 7 or 8 inches high, so don't be stingy. Those lunching exclusively on the denser plants, like broccoli or turnip mash, are invited to lay their food down first to form a solid base.
We'll then take turns pressing our faces into the pile and competing to see who can last the longest before coming up for a breath. I'll hold the stopwatch and would appreciate it if you didn't look at me while I'm holding it.
Whoever wins will be in charge of our department for the next 6 years, ruling unopposed and unquestioned absolutely, so really put some effort into it.
You don’t see much innovation in the world of olives these days. It’s more or less steady as she goes. Pitted, with pits. Black or green. Stuffed with pimento or cheese. Free range or farm. Year after year. Same old, same old. First improvement I’d make: Get them rotating. All of them spinning, either on your plate or in mid-air. Simple vibrating olives aren’t enough and the industry knows it. Next: I’d cube them. And not soft cubes with rounded corners. My cubed olives will be machined to precise tolerances, with sharp edges that hold up under heavy stacking sessions. Then I’d get scientists to mess with the olive genome so that they don’t scream when you slice them. Finally I’d broker a lasting peace between olives and those miniature...
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...
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 20ยข 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.
