“A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!”, cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.
“Bah!”, said Scrooge. “Humbug!”
He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this nephew of Scrooge’s, that he was all in a glow; his face was ruddy and handsome; his eyes sparkled, and his breath smoked again.
“Christmas a humbug, uncle?”, said Scrooge’s nephew. “You don’t mean that, I am sure?”
“I do”, said Scrooge. “‘Merry Christmas’! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You’re poor enough.”
“Come, then”, returned the nephew gaily. “What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You’re rich enough.”
Marmaduke is a comic that is as old as my parents. It’s been drawn by the same fellow, one Brad Anderson, since 1954, and since the fateful day of its creation Marmaduke has served as a daily reminder that you don’t have to be funny or talented to be syndicated in newspapers nationwide.
I once read the entire Marmaduke comic described succinctly as “The big dog is on something you want.” I think there’s an even simpler explanation: the cartoonist is not funny at all.
I did not have friends growing up. I was too quiet, too reserved, too terrified of being hurt by other people. My parents never beat me, in contrast, the house was overly safe, and I think that’s what the problem was. My mother had constructed a sanctuary for me to keep out the evils of the world, but by the time I would have entered school, it was a psychological prison. Years passed by in solitude as I remained stagnant. Time has no meaning to those who remain unchanged.
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.
Having lived with my girlfriend-at-the-time for two and a half years, I came to take some of her possessions for granted. Then, one inappropriately bright and shining summer day, all of that stuff left my home and traveled to her new one, far away. Most of those possessions I was actually happier without, because most of it was stuff for which I had no use and for which we had no space to actually store. One among those things, though, was sorely missed after it was gone: The vacuum cleaner.
President-Elect Barack Obama and President George Bush had a meeting last Thursday to discuss national security matters. However, the meeting quickly got sidetracked when Obama noticed Bush’s Collector’s Edition Risk set.
IS major Dan Chorros recently became at a loss to explain away his chronic tardiness, absence, and apathy. Once a master of making excuses, he found himself rationalizing his lethargy with extremely weak reasoning.
The price of gas is killing me… Sometimes I have to leave my lead weight collection at home. The beached whale on my roof is going to have to go next. I guess that’s what you get for parking below the tide line.
Still scares me to this day. Note that invincibility was on for this picture. I never learn.
Yesterday I finally beat Doom. No, not Doom 3. Not Resurrection of Evil. Not some pointlessly difficult custom-made map. No, I beat the original game. Doom. For the PC. From 1993.
No, this has nothing to do with masturbation. Well, at least, I think it has nothing to do with masturbation.
This device was created long before imageboards were even a funny feeling in someone’s balls, and was called the “fapper” before a gaggle of horny 14-year-olds decided that “fap” would be a great word for “masturbate”. Anyway, watch the video before I give too much away… It’s delightfully hilarious.
