We're in the depths of Spring here in St Clair Shores. With Spring comes the warm weather. With the warm weather come the Ice Cream Trucks. Normally they creep through the neighborhood to a crude loop of The Entertainer. Since 2pm Saturday an Ice Cream Truck has been parked in front of my house. Parked. No music, no motion. It just sat there. All day. And all night for all I know. It was there when I got up on Sunday and it's still there now, Monday morning. The Ice Cream Man sits there at his window, thumbing through a copy of Popular Mechanics. Every so often he looks up at my house with a scowl. The truck is filled with ice cream. It's not a decoy. It's filled with Ice Cream this Ice Cream Man refuses to sell. I know. I asked. He just glared at me in silence. I even offered him double...
DEPT: Blog
THIS IS THE BLOG OF THE HUMAN DOG.
THIS IS IMPORTANT EVIDENCE OF THE END OF THE WORLD.
ALSO THE OCCASIONAL RECIPE.
THANK YOU.
“Do you remember any Wall Street bankers being dragged off in handcuffs when they blew up the financial system and bilked people out of trillions of dollars?”
SOURCE
I’d like to dig a huge hole, push western civilization into it and cover it with 45,000lbs of sand and concrete.
Self-congratulatory morning radio was the winner this time.
Happy Jim was unique among the lunatics in our fine town. He stood out not because of looks or demeanor but solely because of ability. Happy Jim was able to digest any substance. Anything. He also had enormous patience and great mechanical skill. He also had a love of music. As a result, he methodically went from tavern to tavern, from bar to bar, slowly and carefully dismantling their jukebox music machines and eating each part. He continued on this path, day after day, until everything was gone. No more dancing, only silence. The barkeeps actually welcomed this as they secretly hated our town and its people. They wanted retribution and got it by eliminating a primary source of the town’s musical pleasure. In many cases, shortly after Happy Jim’s work, the establishments...
I remember from my earliest days, there was a popular video arcade game which had as its goal the procurement of a decent suit for a job interview. You never got to the actual job interview, you just selected smart, sensible outfits and laid the clothes out on the bed, mixing and matching vests and pin stripes and shoes. No score was kept. Every twenty minutes the game went into automatic pause and requested the player take a mandatory 15 minute break where you were discouraged from thinking about anything.
Those days are gone, never to return.
We're offering Postcards made of sandpaper that you never send. You just hold onto them for an uncomfortable amount of time.
Miniature shovels for miniature men. Each doing their work in heroic silence. The men dig constantly and carefully. Each scoop of sand deposited in its own envelope for later examination. It is a hectic and hurried scene. The work must be done right for millions are depending on it. There is no time for sweat, no time for regret. All work in concert, all agree. All understand the wisdom behind their struggle.
All work as one, moving towards the ultimate prize: Affordable egg-shaped costumes for man, woman, and child.
We're going to be holding a class on the Identification of Bite Marks, North America Edition. Learn to identify by sight and touch up to 35 different Bite Marks including Bobcat, Grey Trout, Domesticated Chipmunk, and Aged Moose. Partial and full jaw marks will be discussed. Cost includes textbook.
Ages 16+, no military discounts.
Life in the year 3015. It’s never too early to start preparing. You’ll want to be remembered in stories around the campfire, so you better do something meaningful today. Consider becoming a legendary bank robber who can also bring small mammals back from the dead. They’re gonna want somebody like that in the far off future. Consider your offspring as well. There are 40 generations between us and the people of 3015 AD. Perhaps you can be the reason so many of them are fantastic acrobats despite their toe webbing. Consider having at least 18 children and handing down to each one a ceremonial sword just to see if the people of tomorrow include a disproportionately high number of antiquities dealers. In the end your power over the society of a thousand years hence is limited...
Bubble Wand confiscation began in earnest today by local authorities. They're acting on orders of the Feds. Door to door, house to house. If they find the kids hiding them, under the bed or with their dollies, immediate arrest and mandatory 18-month sentence.
You think your daughter's tears slow down these thugs? Most of these guys just got done doing the same thing in Iraq, back to back tours.
You know what comes after this: Patriot Re-Education Camps. And you were silent.
I have two things in my freezer:
Stouffer's Single Serving Lean Cuisine Lasagna and Napoleon's Last Wig.
There’s still money to be made in the Bumper Sticker industry. Don’t believe what you hear on CNBC; we are on the brink of a Bumper Sticker resurgence. People will be putting them on pets (the kind you can walk on a leash, not one of those novelty pets like an eel or typewriter). Bumper stickers will be everywhere. What’s fueling this interest in rectangular, UV-resistant, vinyl stickers featuring often-crude, obnoxious and illiterate sloganeering? A fear of missing out. That, and the invention/discovery of three new curse words is driving hordes of your fellow citizens to trade shows, truck stops, and the back page “personals” section of Modern Knifer magazine desperate to hand over real, American cash for Stickers mocking gun control advocates and Wiccans...