|
||||
|
So, my roommate and I have an unusually large amount of plates for two guys in college thanks to bundled packages from Target. As a result, doing the dishes is never a pressing concern since if we run out of plates, there are always bowls. Run out of those, there are always mugs and teacups. You might think that, when your favorite NFL team is leading by 11 points with two minutes left in the game, it might as well be over. Surely, they’ve got it “in the bag” now and you can safely switch channels, right? You might think that, but that’s because you root for a GOOD team. Or, to use the term favored by Buffalo Bills fans, a BORING one. Everybody hides things. We all, for one reason or another, have certain thoughts and feelings that we keep to ourselves. And from the day I began writing for this site, there has been one nagging thought that I’ve never been able to get away from. And I finally decided I can’t take it anymore; I’ve kept this feeling inside for too long, and it’s time I shared it with the world… I returned Peter’s stash to its rightful (though dare I say unlawful!) place, and soon enough Peter returned in a similarly criminal manner. I could see in his bloodshot eyes that awful gleam of knowing. Like any good spy, I had returned his rifled-through things to their original places, carefully restacking the most casual of stacks, etc, and though any layman would have been none the wiser, something in those flat eyes knew that I knew that he was a fiend, both horticulturally and demonologically. So one might criticize my reaction to that initial night of sexile, since the blue scrunchie maneuver was something I might have given Peter reason to think was okay. (I hope to god Peter didn’t show that Chinese girl his “blue scrunchie maneuver” if you know what I mean, because what I mean is some kind of sex act). Let’s face it; people are getting lazier all the time. Everyone knows it, especially your grandpa who used to walk to school in the snow every day and blah blah blah derpy derpy doo and so forth. And in no aspect of our lives is this more apparent than in the way we get our food. Observe: I hate Dave & Busters. I’ve hated them for a long time. It has nothing to do with their staggeringly overpriced french fries, their usurious activation fees for their cards, or that dumb way that they connect all their fans together with gears and belts. No, it runs much deeper. It’s time again for the Clunkline “columns from you guys” feature, where we give you, the reader, a chance to voice your opinion. Today’s guest column comes from Garth Q. Jennings in Dead Possum, Alabama, who dictated the following rant to one of our secretaries because he himself can’t type. Or spell. *** If Nuclear Weapons Are Outlawed, Only Outlaws Will Have Nuclear Weapons by Garth Q. Jennings Well, the government is at it again! Trying to infringe on my God-given right to carry a nuclear missile for self defense. And put “God-given right” in all caps. Wait, are you writing that down, too? Don’t write this part down, just the rest of it.
I wish I could’ve been the designer who got to put this together. How hilarious a task is this? Making up phrases like “Ultimate staple performance” and “Precision engineered chisel point” and “maximum penetration,” all pertaining to staples. They’re fucking STAPLES! I don’t think it’s going to make any difference in my staple-purchasing decision whether or not they’re part of the “Professional Plus Series”. I’m just hoping they’re made of metal and will hold two fucking sheets of paper together. |
Entries feed:
Comments feed:
|
|||
Copyright © 2012 Clunkline - All Rights Reserved Powered by WordPress & the Atahualpa Theme by BytesForAll. Discuss on our WP Forum 204 queries. 0.562 seconds. View in: Mobile | Standard
|
||||
