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 When you can't find sheep and you're in a hurry... Found in a gas station restroom somewhere in central PA. I took my pen and appended “Also several amphibians” to the message, but I neglected to take a picture of it afterward. 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).
The Logic of Ronnie I’ve already pointed out a few examples of situations in which Ronnie makes very bizarre logical errors, but there are plenty more available. They follow. According to well-placed sources, Phil Higgins of Omaha, Nebraska, would rather live with a perpetually-clogged toilet than deal with the problem. And when he is forced to deal with it, instead of plunging it, he just flushes, waits five minutes for the water to drain, and flushes again, repeating ad nauseum until it either fixes itself or his roommate fixes it for him.  Heralded by a deafening roar of thunder, a deluge of flames poured from the skies. The streets and rivers ran with blood. Grotesque beasts sprang up from vast chasms carved in the Earth’s surface leading straight to the depths of the underworld. And four skeletal riders appeared on the horizon, arriving to bring about the destruction of mankind.
7/17/49 Today I found PFC Wilson sleeping in a broken garbage disposal unit. He said he had thought it was his bed. When I asked him how long he had been sleeping there, his saddened reaction indicated that he had been using it as his bunk since we launched from Detria Station six months ago. This puzzled me, because the disposal unit had been operational until two weeks ago. He said that sleeping in an operational garbage disposal unit was difficult, but not impossible; that he would roll out of it every hour to avoid getting crushed and salvage what bedding he could, though he frequently lost pillowcases and sheets to its hungry maw, but he had also wondered why people always threw garbage at him. Y’know, it’s interesting that somebody just put up a post on this site complaining about imitators because that just happens to be what this issue of “My Pet Peeves” covers. I HATE it when people borrow (more like annex) the work and styles of someone else’s efforts. This means that 99.9999999% of the time, I hate fan videos of movies and shows, covers of already famous and popular songs, homemade comics on the web featuring casts of characters that already exist and are copyrighted like Naruto, photoshop images of things that photoshop images have already been made of, and the list goes on and on. The post I mentioned above featured yet another thing we have all seen many versions of, something which we have all come to love and then grow tired of in one sitting: Motivational posters and their many, many, MANY EFFING MANY parodies. Now that the internet is home to somewhere over nine thousand of these parodies, who in their right mind, in their left mind, or even in their auxiliary mind would want to be just another person to make yet one more? Who wants to become a statistic, really? So I’ve spent my summer working as a temp at a company that manufactures safety equipment for other companies around the world. My department specializes in hard hats, and I’m to pack them. For eight hours a day. Monday through Friday. Yeah, it’s that awesome. Needless to say, there’s not a lot of thought necessary to stick a suspension in a hat, put both into a bag, and then to place the whole thing in a box. To stave off boredom, I have my music, which helps, but is not always sufficient. So my thoughts continue to wander around, searching for something, anything, to keep me from taking my utility knife and seeing what can be done with these pesky wrists. JIM and TOM are in the anti-bee bunker. JIM. so our housemate says we should clean TOM. yes yes and yes JIM. arbeit macht frei, das flanderson TOM. did you just godwin our housemate JIM. jawhol, mein fuhrer TOM. it’s gotta get done, and hey, fascism makes the trains run on time. JIM. i’m just speaking german TOM. I cleaned the kitchen, and did not speak out JIM. you didn’t clean your room |
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