The nation’s most highly regarded deplorables think-tank has convened to discusses container options, having declared “basket” too effeminate.
Top suggestions from the ongoing conference currently include duffel bag, toolbox, and shed.
In a late breaking update we have learned that apparently at least one participant has been ejected and “beat down” for suggesting “fanny pack”. It is unclear if this includes “utility belt” or if the objection was specific to fanny packs alone.
We will keep you up to date as more information arrives.
I know advertisers are really working hard to target consumers. Here we have a stellar example of how deep this commitment runs.
I was poking through the good old family-related super hero films and found myself contemplating the merits of the latest Thor film.
This brought to mind that fateful afternoon when my daughter and I went to see Thor so many months ago. She was excited and animated before, she was enthralled tucked down into her seat in the darkness, and she was utterly aglow as we exited the theater. She turned to me with those big brown eyes and fixed me with her tiny gaze: “I want to study French”.
As you can imagine, I was so very proud. But where to begin?
Certainly we could re-watch Jason Goes to Hell or No Country for Old Men (she is a huge Coen Brothers fan, such a precocious nine year old). Haywire would also be a fine choice, though neither of us would have guessed at that.
But wait, what about French for Kids? Brilliant!
Such a detailed interweaving of our minds as consumers.
The Internet has provided us with many tools, but few have been so fruitful—few in the history of humanity—as those in the search engine revolution. As we stuff ever more information into the perpetually expanding sack called Interwebz, we have developed equally swelling search indexing. Think of it like the expanding universe with another smaller expanding model-of-a-universe of the expanding universe inside of it. Swelling. Like an inflammation.
Out there may not yet be all the answers to life’s persistent questions, but out there is a cornucopia of medical information. Sure, you can probably found out all about anyone else’s medical history or which prescriptions to which they have addictions. More importantly though you can find out about the horrible mention-less yet debilitating diseases your doctor hasn’t the cockles to tell you that you already have.
From e-bola to ovarian cancer, I have been able to diagnose every ache or pain or wayward thought I have had since the advent of Google. There is no more wondering on my part. No more nervously tapping my feet in a thinly carpeted waiting room while my so-called medical practitioner perfects her Ramos Gin Fizz among a cadre of eager male nurses. Who doesn’t love a good Gin Fizz?
Just ask yourself, do you have any of the following symptoms?
Loss of memory, loss of hair, loss of love, loss of life, loss of memory, loss of mammaries, loss of memory, loss of money, lots of moles, whack-a-mole, constipation, constipation and whack-a-mole, cold feet, lower stamina, lower self-esteem, lower self-adhesion, loss of memory, excessive deja vu, loss of memory, loss of hair, loss of love, loss of life, loss of memory, loss of mammaries, loss of memory, loss of money, lots of moles, whack-a-mole, constipation, constipation and whack-a-mole, cold feet, lower stamina, loss of memory, excessive deja vu, war, death, taxes, depression, elation, changes in cholesterol, plaque, plague, palpitations, fibrillations, amputations, necrolepsy, necromancy, necrophilia, dry skin, wet skin, skin at all, sleep apnea, lactose intolerance, religious intolerance, intolerance of the libido, intolerance of ovulation, nausea, swelling, puffiness, puffins, acne, hackney slang, total lack of imagination, or an inability to eat food without reciting the preamble to the Constitution.
This is by no means an exhaustive list, but these are some of the more obvious symptoms. A fuller list might also include these deleterious symptoms:
Intemperance and business trouble, business nerves, the feebleness of intellect, over taxing mental powers, over action of the mind, hard study, brain fever, brain congestion, brain worms, over study of religion, religious enthusiasm, Salvation Army, hereditary predisposition, ill treatment by spouse, imaginary female trouble, hysteria, immoral life, imprisonment, jealousy and religion, laziness, marriage of children, shooting of children, domestic affliction or trouble, fits and desertion of spouse, rumour of spousal murder, desertion by spouse, parents were cousins, excessive sexual abuse, deranged masturbation, masturbation and syphilis, masturbation for 30 years, tobacco and masturbation, suppressed masturbation, medicine to prevent contraception, sexual abuse and stimulants, sexual derangement, nymphomania, venereal excess, vicious vices, seduction and disappointment, self abuse, suppressed menstruation or menses, menstrual derangement, exposure and heredity, exposure and quackery, exposure in armed service, exposure and trench coat, excitement as officer, death of children due to war, decoyed into armed service, fell from a horse in a war, kicked in the head by a horse, carbonic acid gas, bad company, bad habits and political excitement, bad whiskey, female disease, male disease, hermaphroditic disease, women trouble, men trouble, hermaphrodite trouble, small pox, large pox, poodle pox, pox pox, novel reading, poetry recitation, gathering in the head, greed, grief, gunshot wound, asthma, spinal irritation, fever and loss of law suit, fever and jealousy, false confinement, snuff eating for 2 years, opium habit, time of life, or superstition.
As you can see, this is a great area of concern. Don’t get yourself checked; your doctor is likely to lie to you.
Get an ointment, get a water potion from your alternative medical practitioner, or have an exorcism.
Being that neither C nor myself are cathaholics—she a teetotaler and me an apathetic—we have tossed in the proverbial towel on this so-called St Valentine and his alleged day.
In case you didn’t know (and most don’t), St Valentine had an imaginary friend. The guy can’t stop talking about his imaginary friend. Just loves him. Says he is loved by him. A match made in heaven. But it’s over and over, relentless, like the pounding of the waves upon the beach. Everybody he meets stares in awe as Valentinus Sinusitis regales the very air with luscious adulations of said imaginary friend.
Then he meets an emperor of Rome—let’s call him Claudius—I like the name Claudius—I might name my next cat Claudius—anyway, Valentinus continues to avail every breath which might reach those imperial ears ever-toward the tiresome goal of shouting from the top of a mountain that which could just as effectively be slipped into a note in the pocket of one’s robe like a precious telegram.
have imaginary friend stop
lots of love stop
Long story short… so Claudius says “if you don’t shut the fuck up about your invisible companion I’m gonna have a couple of the boys take you out back and beat you to death”. Valentinus, being a smooth negotiator, talks the emperor into beheading when the beating is done: “if you’re going to do it, your highness, at least do it right”.
Clearly this is the most magnificent symbol of romantic love in the many millennia of humanity’s struggle to find someone with which to enjoy chocolate, perhaps rivaled only by Big Bird’s love of Mr Snuffleupagus—assuming of course someone were to then beat and behead Big Bird.
But hey, Big Bird’s been through a lot lately.
Let’s leave him and his romance to blossom as it will. It’s a harsh world; we should never endeavor to hamper love.
So what might lovers do to spontaneously express their gratitude and joy, nay to celebrate the very fabric of love which binds so many of us together?
Let me turn your attention to another historical figure.
This chiseled human specimen is a novelist and a playwright, loves spanking servant girls in his spare time, did most of his writing in prison, was subsequently elected as a delegate before the National Convention, and can often be heard saying “Seigneur, Madame le Guillotine”.
Let’s have a big round of applause for our first contestant, the Marquis de Sade.
(Actually he’s our only contestant as I don’t plan to stay up all night trying to convince you to laugh.)
The Marquis de Sade was probably born in June of 1740, not that it matters much. Holidays get tossed all over the calendar. If someone doesn’t like where a holiday lands they have always had the option to just move it.
Granted it’s a lot harder with a holiday like the Fourth of July, but as long as it’s named Lumpy Rug Day or Ether Day you have a bit of flexibility. And thanks to the amazing magic of double-think you too can think “it’s always been on that day”.
We have these cool machines from Starbucks which are similar to the replicators on Star Trek and which are apparently made from Magic. They are able to, among other things, spit out hot chocolate.
Of course Magic doesn’t use milk or cream. Magic uses water. You need Love to make cream and milk. I guess.
So when the Magic spits out the hot chocolate I add some Half & Half to it. The reason I add Half & Half is because we don’t have heavy cream or whipping cream. I would prefer cream as this would make up for the lack of milk and the use of water. Water is the antithesis of cream and cutting it with cream would give you something like it were made with proper milk. But I can’t so I use Half & Half.
Everyone knows “watered down” and knows it sucks. No one says “creamed down” because adding cream would go up and make things better. So it seems strange to say cutting it with cream since what I’d really be doing would be cutting some cream with chocolate water but whatever.
I know what you’re thinking: “Why aren’t you drinking beer?”
You, sir or madame, are missing the point.
There are a lot of folks out there who get a cup of coffee and they say “hey, where’s the cream?” and the Coffee Jerk points to a little table with various coffee condiments.
There is sugar—maybe even sugar in the raw, whatever that is—right next to the Sweet & Low and the Splenda. Then you might have a carafe of Half & Half and a chilled bin of non-dairy creamer.
Have you ever seen a non-dairy cow? No? You know why? Because they, like Santa and bug-free programs, don’t exist!
Oh, and Splenda… Splenda?! Splenda is exactly the opposite of splendid. It’s shit. Shit’s nasty. Don’t put it in your mouth. Did your mother teach you nothing?
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. Cream…
The Coffee Jerk lied to the Patron asking for cream or the Patron didn’t really mean cream. Otherwise the Patron would have landed at the coffee condiment counter and said “ok, so where’s the cream?!” No cream. No love.
No Cream = No Love
For those who would dispute this equation, I offer this mild proof. Farmers love their cows and this love is used to make cream every day. You say “there’s more to making cream than that and some cows are in factories” and I respond “go get your own fucking cow and love it and see if it doesn’t return some delicious whole milk”.
You are wondering why farms in America—and here I mean family farms—are in decline? Wonder no longer. Demand your cream!