Consolation Prize: 1984 Kanners Shoe Products Company Picnic Commemorative Frisbee.
Consolation Prize: Twelve Piece Photographs of GMC Seatbelt Buckles Set.
Consolation Prize: Having “Don't Tread On Me Logo with Snake” Forcibly Painted On Your Face While Being Held Down By Members of Local Liberty/Baptist Redeemer Board of Elders.
Consolation Prize: This American Life of Pointless Toil.
Last I heard, Roland was doing biofuel research for the Chi-Coms.
“Shit, you can get any kind of organ here – no paperwork. I pay 'em in dragon coins. One billion people looking the other way.”
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.”
Roland DuBuque has a neck mole. He runs a liquor store he doesn't own. He's just purchased his 14th GMC Hummer.
“Nobody wants 'em. You can get 'em for parts, anything. I got a whole fleet. I paint 'em all orange. Safety.”
Roland guest lectures at Concealed/Carry classes and “lives the example.”
“This Comet ISON shit is bullshit. They all knew.”
Dialysis will see him through four more decades. Last of a breed.
Everyone, all of us, in America were driven insane not too long ago. No one escaped. Newborns sleep beneath open, always-running laptop computers for the first thirteen months. It's all very efficient.
That's why we mock the Amish. Their only method for driving babies crazy involves involuntary beardings and potato-gluing their hands to bibles.
The end of May exposes many broken promises. We're approaching Popsicle weather, there's no hiding it. So June brings reform. No more romantic breakfasts at Burger King. Stop offering to rewrite your friend's play. Smile when they perform it for you in the hall. Encourage them to do the cockney accents. Admit you've traded your dignity for half a car wash coupon book. And follow through. Because what do you want to be? A gutless wonder, clutching curtains and asking for rides to the KMart pharmacy? Or a lightly caricatured version of yourself in a syndicated television sitcom worthy of the respect of your adopted children? When it comes down to it, refuse the extra gravy. Ask them to put it in a clearly labeled bag and mail it to your Aunt. Offer to pay for priority...
