It’s not every day you count the beavers in between you and Arby’s. No. It’s not every day. But today is only one day, and today I did it.
It started out real hard. I looked everywhere for the fuckers. Couldn’t find a single one. I figured, damn, there must be more than no beavers between where I am and Arby’s. Then I realized I was still in the bathtub.
I have a bed. It’s sitting in the back of the somewhat derelict van that is parked in front of my house. I have actively chosen not to put it together since the end of July, because I, through my own sloth, accidentally discovered the greatest sleep-apparatus short of a hammock. Mattress on the floor is divine for the following reasons.
1: Endless nightstand. Do you really want to fuck around with a two-by-one-and-a-half-foot space for your alarm clock, cellphone, and everything else you’re way too lazy to put where it belongs? Stop, then! Your nightstand just became the floor within arm’s reach of your mattress. You have been liberated.
I was up late that night. Graveyard shift at the campus apartments. A dispute down the hall resulted in a pathetic and somewhat hairy student coming to me complaining about one asian in particular, and asians in general. He also said he needed a new scrunchie, but I couldn’t help him there. A single RA can only do so much to stem the asian invasion and conjure up scrunchies.
In tough economic times like these, we can no longer afford to eat lobsters garnished with panda blood and diamond sauce. Today, I walk you through some easy way to tighten your belts without also tightening your taste buds!*
*Taste buds cannot be tightened.
Here are some alternative recipes for your favorite foods.
Real cheesecake requires expensive ingredients and gas-oven preparation. With energy prices these days, something had to change.
My apartment building came with pretty thick walls—thick enough that I never heard any noises from any other apartment for months. But recently, my upstairs neighbors decided to start playing “throw the U-bend into the corner”, and I can hear them quite clearly.
Number of stars: 1 1/2
Inches of snow that changed our plans at the last minute: 8
Hours it took to get here: 4
Hours Farkle-farkle drove my car here: 4
Hours of sleep she got before that: 1 1/2
Number of expensive improv shows we’ve slept through: 1
Mice I’ve caught (and released outside) in our hotel room: 1
Mice I’ve caught with traps in my life: 0
Mice I’ve caught with my hands in my life: 2
Reviews that said this place was in a sketchy neighborhood: All
Amount we’re paying for it: not enough for me to care
Number of times the hotel has been broken into since we started staying here: 1
Floor that was on: 1
Floor I’m on: 4
Therefore do I care: not really
Did I hear it: yes
Did I think it was a hypnagogic hallucination because I was asleep at 6:20 in the evening: yes
Is our sleep cycle messed up: yes, horribly
Will we make our events tomorrow: probably not
Is this the best vacation ever: damn straight
The impressive empire that once was.
(Yellow only; grey indicates outlying areas)
I am writing to you as a representative of the people of Wales. I understand that you are very busy freeing South America from the tyrannical grip of a decadent Spain, but I sincerely hope you will have a chance to read my heartfelt appeal.
Tanzmetall (the obvious emperor of Clunkline), Grabass Champion, and myself have written and often times still write music. I’m not really sure about the other two, but my composition writing has evolved out of clicking in a bunch of notes in Sibelius 2.0 and simply saving them as midis. Yes, I now have two really nice keyboards, which I use to play out most of the tracks in my songs, a friend who is quite eloquent on the guitar, and the means to get live recordings of just about any wind instrument I can think of within reason. Recently, I’ve written a new strain of songs for a would-be soundtrack to a graphic novel I am writing and hope to publish someday, and the thought occurred to me that one of Tanzmetall’s original compositions from back in the day would make a splendid theme for one of the villains (a continent-sized magma serpent that dwells under the Earth’s mantle). That song is called FLIGHT FROM EMSARIA, and though everything we write today is vastly superior in almost every way to what we used to write while we were in high school, nothing has ever struck a satisfying chord quite like this song has. At least that’s what I think. But what is it about FLIGHT FROM EMSARIA that is so… so… terrifying (in a good way)?
“My friends, these are tough times,” said McCain in a stump speech usually filled with insincere platitudes. But this time was different. “But seriously, my friends. I have a very serious announcement to make. My checkbook is in crisis. My beautiful wife, Cindy, was one of the principal investors in AIG… and the Lehman Brothers… and Merrill Lynch… and… well… pretty much everything that just fell apart. As a result, we’ve been foreclosed out of most of our homes. Like the average American family on Main Street, we’re feeling the pinch.”
“What?! That’s not… NO. No, you can’t go on national TV and say that. You just can’t. You lying sack of shit,” spewed Derrick Watson of Bridgeville, PA, at the television this weekend. “GOD DAMMIT! Now you made me spill my fucking Coke! I’m gonna fucking kill you, first the lies and now the goddamn Coke!”
Here’s a pet peeve of mine that I think all of us can agree is quite annoying. There’s a common type of person whom all of us have met at one point or another. Sometimes, he’s your history professor in college. Sometimes, he’s the strange neighbor down the street that is completely oblivious to the fact that no one likes him and who has managed to somehow identify you, of all people, as his chum. Heaven forbid this type of person is actually a member of your immediate family. He’s somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty to forty years of age, wears sweater vests and golf socks, is well versed in Shakespeare and philosophy, and, not least of all, has been boasting a glistening bald patch in the back of his head since he was twenty-three. This person (here it comes) OVEREMPHASIZES THE “H” IN EVERYTHING HE SAYS. “WHHHHHHy, HHHHHHow are you doing today?” he might say. “Excuse me, wHHHHHat was that you said? HHHHHHalitosis? Me?”
102-year-old Dorothy Painter of Duluth, Minnesota has inexplicably learned to perform basic internet tasks. She is the first centenarian and likely the only person above age 70 to have done so and lived.
According to her grandson, Andrew Painter, 38, also of Duluth, Dorothy has “sort of figured [email] out.” He admits he still has to help her find the “L” key every few minutes but other than that she is almost self-sufficient.
28-year-old Bill Clement of Omaha, Nebraska claims to have had a “good one” earlier this week.
“People have always told me to, y’know, ‘have a good one’,” Bill told reporters. “I guess I never really gave it much thought until recently.” He says he spent an afternoon doing “more or less nothing” and that said afternoon was indeed a “good one”. Guinness recordkeepers are pending comment as to whether or not this can be verified.