|
||||
|
Annual Report of the Finances of Clunkline.com, INC. Composed by: Norman D. Apple, Quarterly Employee of G&T Wedge Accountants. Over the last few days and months, I have been meticulously collecting, collating, collaborating, collaring, and colonizing data about Clunkline’s detailed financials. Also, I got a colonoscopy. This post will inform us all of Clunkline’s financial status and should be a great help to strategic management objectives as well as objectifying strategic management. Dear Foul Wretched Spawn of Society,  Oooh, baby, you're too hot for Milo. How about you dump that chump and become the Venus de Tanzmetall instead? Seriously, I can’t be alone in this. I mean, I’m not crazy, I know they’re not actual women you can “do the deed with”, so to speak. But their breasts are always perfectly proportioned! And I just know that, if they weren’t made of hard plastic, they’d be just the right size to gently cup in my hand. And, of course, if they were real, they would love me.  And then buy them wit'cho cash money “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.”  Hey, plantboot! Plantboot. Oh, Plantboot. How I love thee, Plantboot. <3 <3 <3 Pittsburgh loves hair and falsetto as much as the next city does, and your faithful Clunkline reporters let you in on the rumor that we’d soon be seeing an appearance by a lesser-known member of the old guard of rock’n’roll. Now, details are falling into place. An anonymous source reported Saturday that long-lived hard rock supergroup Magma will be playing New Year’s Eve at the Post-Gazette Pavilion. This will mark the thirty-eighth scheduled performance in Magma’s latest comeback tour. “We blasted out of the 70s,” said lead singer and triple-necked-guitarist Blaze Runway. “Musical pyrotechnics, exploding onto the scene. We cooled off a bit through the 80s, then in the 90s we went back underground, through subduction. Now we’re back in the magma chamber below the vent, if you know what I mean, and I really think we’re just about ready to erupt once more. After all, FROM WHERE DOTH ROCK COME IF NOT FROM MAGMA?!”
Okay, flags of the world, listen up. A nation’s flag is supposed to be its unique identifying symbol, a collection of colors and insignia that define its people, what they stand for, and what they hope for. It is the banner that will brand their greatest accomplishments, it will be hoisted above their competitors on the world stage, and is the oriflamme they rally behind in times of war. Yet so many of y’all are pedestrian, similar, and uninspired. You fly behind the god damned presidents of the world, ya gotta shape up.  This isn’t even the right flag! That’s Liberia’s flag! As if decades of slavery were not enough, now we deface someone else’s flag just because we’re too fucking LAZY to ink the RIGHT NUMBER OF STARS! Worse still, it’s a THROW PILLOW. It’s not even a real pillow! It’s like a big-game hunter tracking down the last Tasmanian tiger and then calling it a dingo when he mounts it to his wall. Patriotic holidays are just commercialist circlejerks. We don’t honor the fallen. We have sales on mattresses. It’s bad enough that Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Labor Day have been bastardized, but why you gotta exploit the blood of our ancestors to make a $.59 profit on a refrigerator magnet? You may have heard a few mathematically-inspired, nerdy-as-hell pick-up lines such as “I wish I were your derivative so I could lie tangent to your curves.” Until now, you may not have been familiar with their inbred cousins: programming pick-up lines. If you wish to remedy this situation, read on! No joke, there really are Ethiopian restaurants. It’s just like going to a Catholic brothel or a North Korean car dealership. You may be asking, “What, do you go there, sit down, and starve while the world ignores you?” But the advertising for these restaurants says they are completely normal, and deny that the food will be brought in by aid workers. 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. We at Clunkline love to network with our tubemates out there or the internet. It’s not easy to get an interview, though… Oftentimes those most important internetfolk are too awed by the glory of Clunkline or too resentful that soon they’ll be paying top dollar to advertise on our site in hopes of gleaning a few hits from this internet dynamo. However, every once in a while someone’s willing to swallow their pride and offer us a bit of time. |
Entries feed:
Comments feed:
|
|||
Copyright © 2013 Clunkline - All Rights Reserved Powered by WordPress & the Atahualpa Theme by BytesForAll. Discuss on our WP Forum 205 queries. 0.772 seconds. View in: Mobile | Standard
|
||||
