Today I slapped my mother around. She was getting uppity. She claimed moneys that I had legally earned by gainful employment were rightfully hers. She was getting out of hand. I had to do something. It was an ugly business, but it had to be done.
I gave her a left backhand first, she wasn't expecting it, then a right cross knocked her to the ground. It was like mashing ground beef from then on.
What can I say? If someone hands you a twenty dollar bill and then claims to be a victim when you spend your hard-earned paycheck on booze and pills and cheap thrills, what else can you do?
She gave me no choice.
She got lucky. I could have whipped her like a dog.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Candle in the Breeze.
Candle flickered in the warm Summer's breeze
But did not extinguish.
Candle continued to consume himself
In autotrophic bliss.
Drawing himself up
to be burned
and lost.
He knew he would not last forever.
Soon, all of him would be gone.
But did not extinguish.
Candle continued to consume himself
In autotrophic bliss.
Drawing himself up
to be burned
and lost.
He knew he would not last forever.
Soon, all of him would be gone.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Install three sensors.
Extremely accurate atmospheric pressure sensors (a.k.a. barometers) at sea level, one at the north pole, one on the equator, and one at the south pole. Record measurements every hour.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
2012: A Financial Crisis aka Let's Kill all the Baby Boomers.
A speech:
The aged and retired have always constituted a major economic drain on whatever society in which they live.
In these difficult economic times, the only way to revitalize our economy and reduce our debt, is by cutting costs.
In this time in history, much of our population are retirees.
Some people have proposed cutting federal expenditures on Medicaid and Social Security, but why not pull the problem out by the root?
Our generation is young! And intelligent! And it has a future!
The possibilities of our future should not be hindered by those who have no future.
I know it will be tough.
I know it will be difficult.
But, in these difficult times, in the long run, it will be the best thing for our nation to use all that money for something more valuable.
Building and growing jobs. Education. Inspiring our young people to excel and lead us into the future.
For the next generation to succeed, we MUST drop the ballast that is the old generation.
We have to kill all the baby boomers.
The aged and retired have always constituted a major economic drain on whatever society in which they live.
In these difficult economic times, the only way to revitalize our economy and reduce our debt, is by cutting costs.
In this time in history, much of our population are retirees.
Some people have proposed cutting federal expenditures on Medicaid and Social Security, but why not pull the problem out by the root?
Our generation is young! And intelligent! And it has a future!
The possibilities of our future should not be hindered by those who have no future.
I know it will be tough.
I know it will be difficult.
But, in these difficult times, in the long run, it will be the best thing for our nation to use all that money for something more valuable.
Building and growing jobs. Education. Inspiring our young people to excel and lead us into the future.
For the next generation to succeed, we MUST drop the ballast that is the old generation.
We have to kill all the baby boomers.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Take care.
On his way home from work, Herman Mehlman bought a cactus. Upon arriving home, he placed it in a planter-box hanging from the railing of his balcony.
He fondly decided to call it Steve.
Before he got Steve, he had adopted a sequence of three cats; Peter, Paul, and Mary; each of whom had met their unfortunate fates while trying to catch butterflies on Herman's balcony.
Except for Mary.
Mary had been trying to catch a dragonfly.
Herman, depressed by the passing of Mary the night before, had decided to buy the cactus, because in his depressed state, he thought that a cactus might be the only living organism he could actually take care of.
He was wrong.
Herman was employed by the United States Postal Service as a postal carrier. He was proud of his job. He knew it wasn't the most glamourous job in the world, but it gave him a sense of purpose. It made him feel like an integral part of society, in a way in which he never quite felt he "fit-in" before.
That night, while Herman settled down to a night of popcorn and a marathon of James Gandolfini's hit new reality series, "Tony Soprano's: Who's the Boss Now?", he began to think, as he often did, about his life, and how he would kill himself.
However, tonight he was distracted. Earlier that day, while on his route, Herman Mehlman had actually met a woman.
When Julianne Schlesinger opened her front door to accept the mail that Herman was delivering, two of her cats escaped. They seemed to take a liking to Herman.
Herman thought they had sensed his emotional distress over having lost three cats in the past month, but in actuality they were just attracted to the remnants of Mary's scent. She had been in heat when she died.
However, Julianne, being somewhat superstitious, and unable to discern the scent, came to a somewhat different conclusion.
Much to Herman's surprise, he and Julianne "hit it off", and she invited him to a party that she would be attending that weekend.
Herman nervously accepted. He wasn't sure if she had invited him as a date or not.
The weekend came.
Julianne picked him up on her way to the party, but another man was driving her car.
She introduced him as "Tony."
When they got to the party, Julianne told Herman to "Relax, have a good time. Mingle." Then she and Tony rushed off to congratulate the hosts on the excellence of their party.
Herman hated mingling.
Whenever he introduced himself, people invariably asked him what he "did". And when he told them he was a postal carrier, they invariably mocked him for being a "mailman" named Mehlman.
Especially at parties. When he tried to talk to people at parties they were usually drinking, and if they were, they would never stop making fun of him.
Herman was pretty sure they even made fun of him after he left.
After a perfunctory (and failed) attempt at mingling, he decided to leave. He didn't even tell Julianne.
On his way home he stopped at his favourite bar.
It was his favourite bar because nobody there knew his name. Or what he "did".
He sat at his usual table in the corner, and had a few drinks.
When he got home he went out onto his balcony to water his new cactus, Steve. In his drunken stupor he accidentally knocked Steve off his balcony with his watering can, and sent it plummeting to the ground twelve stories below.
The next morning Herman went to the supermarket and bought 16 apricots.
He was allergic to stone fruits, but that didn't matter anymore.
He removed the pits, cracked them open with a hammer, and ate the seeds.
He died of cyanide poisoning within a few hours.
He fondly decided to call it Steve.
Before he got Steve, he had adopted a sequence of three cats; Peter, Paul, and Mary; each of whom had met their unfortunate fates while trying to catch butterflies on Herman's balcony.
Except for Mary.
Mary had been trying to catch a dragonfly.
Herman, depressed by the passing of Mary the night before, had decided to buy the cactus, because in his depressed state, he thought that a cactus might be the only living organism he could actually take care of.
He was wrong.
Herman was employed by the United States Postal Service as a postal carrier. He was proud of his job. He knew it wasn't the most glamourous job in the world, but it gave him a sense of purpose. It made him feel like an integral part of society, in a way in which he never quite felt he "fit-in" before.
That night, while Herman settled down to a night of popcorn and a marathon of James Gandolfini's hit new reality series, "Tony Soprano's: Who's the Boss Now?", he began to think, as he often did, about his life, and how he would kill himself.
However, tonight he was distracted. Earlier that day, while on his route, Herman Mehlman had actually met a woman.
When Julianne Schlesinger opened her front door to accept the mail that Herman was delivering, two of her cats escaped. They seemed to take a liking to Herman.
Herman thought they had sensed his emotional distress over having lost three cats in the past month, but in actuality they were just attracted to the remnants of Mary's scent. She had been in heat when she died.
However, Julianne, being somewhat superstitious, and unable to discern the scent, came to a somewhat different conclusion.
Much to Herman's surprise, he and Julianne "hit it off", and she invited him to a party that she would be attending that weekend.
Herman nervously accepted. He wasn't sure if she had invited him as a date or not.
The weekend came.
Julianne picked him up on her way to the party, but another man was driving her car.
She introduced him as "Tony."
When they got to the party, Julianne told Herman to "Relax, have a good time. Mingle." Then she and Tony rushed off to congratulate the hosts on the excellence of their party.
Herman hated mingling.
Whenever he introduced himself, people invariably asked him what he "did". And when he told them he was a postal carrier, they invariably mocked him for being a "mailman" named Mehlman.
Especially at parties. When he tried to talk to people at parties they were usually drinking, and if they were, they would never stop making fun of him.
Herman was pretty sure they even made fun of him after he left.
After a perfunctory (and failed) attempt at mingling, he decided to leave. He didn't even tell Julianne.
On his way home he stopped at his favourite bar.
It was his favourite bar because nobody there knew his name. Or what he "did".
He sat at his usual table in the corner, and had a few drinks.
When he got home he went out onto his balcony to water his new cactus, Steve. In his drunken stupor he accidentally knocked Steve off his balcony with his watering can, and sent it plummeting to the ground twelve stories below.
The next morning Herman went to the supermarket and bought 16 apricots.
He was allergic to stone fruits, but that didn't matter anymore.
He removed the pits, cracked them open with a hammer, and ate the seeds.
He died of cyanide poisoning within a few hours.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
A Diary of Sorts.
Today I feel like I'm the only person in the world. I went for a walk.
I saw things that looked like people, but I could tell they were mere simulacra of humanity, homunculi.
They moved, and they walked, and they talked, but none of them were real. One of them watered his driveway with an automatic sprinkler.
He was no less automatic than his sprinkler.
I looked into their eyes and saw nothing.
Other apparent adults impeded my trajectory along the sidewalk, but even after acknowledging me, made no attempt to discontinue obstructing my path.
I didn't like them.
I jumped sideways to avoid a collision with a child-thing that was running towards me but was apparently unable to see me.
A car beeped at me for crossing a street along a trajectory that was not precisely perpendicular to the street itself.
It clearly didn't understand Euclidian geometry.
I then purchased various solutions of ethanol in water.
On my way home I passed a house that appeared to have had a rather violent explosion occur inside of it.
Only three exterior walls remained.
No windows. A makeshift plywood floor had been placed inside at a half-floor for reconstructive purposes.
Concrete rubble. I went inside.
It was boring. There were sharp, cutty things. I didn't touch them. It was colder than outside. It was pretty hot outside so I liked it.
I got bored after a while.
After that I walked through a schoolyard on my way home. I used to play baseball there. It was several hours after the school was over, but there were still children.
They were practicing baseball. They screamed.
I don't really mind children screaming.
There's a park behind my apartment building where children like to go and scream, so I'm used to it. It usually wakes me up in the morning, at least in summer. At least it's better than my alarm clock.
I don't like it when the guy down the hall screams, though. He sounds mad and he yells mean things at his girlfriend. He also yells about how much he loves her and why doesn't she love him?. Then there are loud crashy-noises and my apartment shakes.
One time he yelled at her why was she scared of him and that he wasn't going to hurt her. He told her he wasn't going to hurt her so why was she scared? I couldn't hear what she said, but I was scared.
I called the cops once.
Nothing happened.
I saw things that looked like people, but I could tell they were mere simulacra of humanity, homunculi.
They moved, and they walked, and they talked, but none of them were real. One of them watered his driveway with an automatic sprinkler.
He was no less automatic than his sprinkler.
I looked into their eyes and saw nothing.
Other apparent adults impeded my trajectory along the sidewalk, but even after acknowledging me, made no attempt to discontinue obstructing my path.
I didn't like them.
I jumped sideways to avoid a collision with a child-thing that was running towards me but was apparently unable to see me.
A car beeped at me for crossing a street along a trajectory that was not precisely perpendicular to the street itself.
It clearly didn't understand Euclidian geometry.
I then purchased various solutions of ethanol in water.
On my way home I passed a house that appeared to have had a rather violent explosion occur inside of it.
Only three exterior walls remained.
No windows. A makeshift plywood floor had been placed inside at a half-floor for reconstructive purposes.
Concrete rubble. I went inside.
It was boring. There were sharp, cutty things. I didn't touch them. It was colder than outside. It was pretty hot outside so I liked it.
I got bored after a while.
After that I walked through a schoolyard on my way home. I used to play baseball there. It was several hours after the school was over, but there were still children.
They were practicing baseball. They screamed.
I don't really mind children screaming.
There's a park behind my apartment building where children like to go and scream, so I'm used to it. It usually wakes me up in the morning, at least in summer. At least it's better than my alarm clock.
I don't like it when the guy down the hall screams, though. He sounds mad and he yells mean things at his girlfriend. He also yells about how much he loves her and why doesn't she love him?. Then there are loud crashy-noises and my apartment shakes.
One time he yelled at her why was she scared of him and that he wasn't going to hurt her. He told her he wasn't going to hurt her so why was she scared? I couldn't hear what she said, but I was scared.
I called the cops once.
Nothing happened.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Universal Uncertainty. aka Cosmological Constant.
Once upon a time there was a universe that collapsed in upon itself. It had people in it. At some point, approximately 14 billion years before the collapse, these people realized that their universe was going to collapse. Unable to conceive of a way to escape the bounds of their universe, and it's eventual collapse, they decided to relax and enjoy their lives.
They lived happily ever after.
Until they died.
Once upon a time there was a universe that neither expanded nor contracted. It had people in it. At some point, it's impossible to tell when, these people realized that their universe was neither expanding nor contracting. They decided to explore other worlds because they were curious. They learned many things about their universe, and many of their people colonized other worlds and thrived.
Every single one of them died anyway.
Once upon a time there was a universe that was expanding faster and faster. It had people in it. At some point, approximately 14 billion years after the creation of the universe, these people realized that their universe would eventually become so vast that they would no longer be able to explore it. So they sent out ship after ship to colonize distant worlds and even more distant worlds in even more distant galaxies to colonize as many galaxies as they could before those galaxies became too distant to reach.
Nobody knows what happened to them.
They lived happily ever after.
Until they died.
Once upon a time there was a universe that neither expanded nor contracted. It had people in it. At some point, it's impossible to tell when, these people realized that their universe was neither expanding nor contracting. They decided to explore other worlds because they were curious. They learned many things about their universe, and many of their people colonized other worlds and thrived.
Every single one of them died anyway.
Once upon a time there was a universe that was expanding faster and faster. It had people in it. At some point, approximately 14 billion years after the creation of the universe, these people realized that their universe would eventually become so vast that they would no longer be able to explore it. So they sent out ship after ship to colonize distant worlds and even more distant worlds in even more distant galaxies to colonize as many galaxies as they could before those galaxies became too distant to reach.
Nobody knows what happened to them.
The Dangers of Procrastination. aka Dead Bird Collector.
Jameson collected dead birds. Unfortunately for his neighbours, they weren't stuffed birds like some people keep on their mantel. No, Jameson collected the normal kind of dead birds. The rotting, decaying kind.
At first, he never really intended to collect them. One day a bird crashed into one of his windows and broke its neck. After hearing the deadly THUNK one morning while eating his daily breakfast of nutella and salami on sliced baguette, Jameson went outside to investigate. Not wanting the poor bird's untimely death to be in vain, he brought the fragile corpse inside, intending to use the feathers for pillows, or to adorn his many fedorae.
But he just never got around to it.
A few days later, Jameson began collecting dead birds from the roadside, intending to give these innocent victims of hit-and-run-drivers a proper burial.
But he just never got around to it.
Before long, Jameson's house was littered with dead birds. Hundreds of them.
And then, one fateful night, it happened. Nobody knows for sure why it happened. Some say it was the freak electrical storm, some say it was the fact that his house was right next to a nuclear power plant, some say it was the radioactive waste the power plant was paying Jameson to dispose of that he just never got around to burying, but whatever the cause, when that bolt of lightning hit Jameson's house, those birds came back to life.
Some people called it a miracle. But when the birds infected them with radioactive zombie bird flu, they changed their minds.
At first, he never really intended to collect them. One day a bird crashed into one of his windows and broke its neck. After hearing the deadly THUNK one morning while eating his daily breakfast of nutella and salami on sliced baguette, Jameson went outside to investigate. Not wanting the poor bird's untimely death to be in vain, he brought the fragile corpse inside, intending to use the feathers for pillows, or to adorn his many fedorae.
But he just never got around to it.
A few days later, Jameson began collecting dead birds from the roadside, intending to give these innocent victims of hit-and-run-drivers a proper burial.
But he just never got around to it.
Before long, Jameson's house was littered with dead birds. Hundreds of them.
And then, one fateful night, it happened. Nobody knows for sure why it happened. Some say it was the freak electrical storm, some say it was the fact that his house was right next to a nuclear power plant, some say it was the radioactive waste the power plant was paying Jameson to dispose of that he just never got around to burying, but whatever the cause, when that bolt of lightning hit Jameson's house, those birds came back to life.
Some people called it a miracle. But when the birds infected them with radioactive zombie bird flu, they changed their minds.
The Many Uses of Hot Chicks.
Hi, my name's Justin, but I hate the name Justin, so you can call me Edward Q. Pussypillow (because chicks love sitting on my face); everybody else does... well, everybody except... my enemy.
Anyway, I'll explain that later, because right now I'm here to tell you all about the many uses of hot chicks.
Hot chicks have many uses. It's true. They're not just good for looking at or being in pornos or becoming prostitutes, you know. In fact, did you know, hot chicks are also very good for selling things? It's true. Studies have shown that 97% of all successful advertisements last year were successful solely because they had hot chicks in them. And the other 3%? They were on the radio.
But that's not all. You can make hot chicks useful for yourself too! It's true. Let me tell you how I used a hot chick to destroy my enemy.
Okay, so there was this guy, right? A real jerk, went by the name Tetzloff. He was my history teacher or something in junior high. Anyway, get this: He refused; downright refused to call me Edward Q. Pussypillow.
So, anyway, a few years after I graduated I started having these nightmares. I kept dreaming about him calling me "Justin". I dunno why it took so long, maybe I repressed it or something, but the embarrassment finally resurfaced. It wasn't so bad in private, but then he started using my real name when he called on me in class. "Justin." In front of the other kids, no less. "Justin." I can still hear their haunting laughter, mocking my mental anguish every time he used my real name. "Justin. Justin. Justin!!!"
Ha ha. So anyway, I like, had this cousin, who was, you know, a hot chick.
Hey, it's not like she was my sister or anything. I'm not some kind of pervert!
So anyway, she was like 19 or 15 or something, and she was like crazy smokin'-ass hot, right? So I knew she was the perfect way to get even with Tetzloff.
Anyway, there's this seedy motel on the edge of town that Tetzloff drove by every day on his way home from school. So, I brought my cousin there one day, and I ripped her dress so it was like, half falling off or whatever, and just as Tetzloff was driving by, I got her to run out into the street screaming that she'd been raped.
It worked like a charm. Ha ha, stupid Tetzloff. That old pervert.
So, I'm hiding behind the door, right? And when Tetzloff comes running in, I jump out and smash a lamp over the back of his head. What an idiot, ha ha.
So anyway, I'm bashing his skull in, right, and my cousin comes back into the motel room to see what all the screaming is about. So I had to kill her too, because, you know, you don't want any witnesses to that kind of thing. And then I fucked her corpse because she was crazy super hot, right? And it's not like she could say no or anything. I mean, what would you do??
Anyway, I'll explain that later, because right now I'm here to tell you all about the many uses of hot chicks.
Hot chicks have many uses. It's true. They're not just good for looking at or being in pornos or becoming prostitutes, you know. In fact, did you know, hot chicks are also very good for selling things? It's true. Studies have shown that 97% of all successful advertisements last year were successful solely because they had hot chicks in them. And the other 3%? They were on the radio.
But that's not all. You can make hot chicks useful for yourself too! It's true. Let me tell you how I used a hot chick to destroy my enemy.
Okay, so there was this guy, right? A real jerk, went by the name Tetzloff. He was my history teacher or something in junior high. Anyway, get this: He refused; downright refused to call me Edward Q. Pussypillow.
So, anyway, a few years after I graduated I started having these nightmares. I kept dreaming about him calling me "Justin". I dunno why it took so long, maybe I repressed it or something, but the embarrassment finally resurfaced. It wasn't so bad in private, but then he started using my real name when he called on me in class. "Justin." In front of the other kids, no less. "Justin." I can still hear their haunting laughter, mocking my mental anguish every time he used my real name. "Justin. Justin. Justin!!!"
Ha ha. So anyway, I like, had this cousin, who was, you know, a hot chick.
Hey, it's not like she was my sister or anything. I'm not some kind of pervert!
So anyway, she was like 19 or 15 or something, and she was like crazy smokin'-ass hot, right? So I knew she was the perfect way to get even with Tetzloff.
Anyway, there's this seedy motel on the edge of town that Tetzloff drove by every day on his way home from school. So, I brought my cousin there one day, and I ripped her dress so it was like, half falling off or whatever, and just as Tetzloff was driving by, I got her to run out into the street screaming that she'd been raped.
It worked like a charm. Ha ha, stupid Tetzloff. That old pervert.
So, I'm hiding behind the door, right? And when Tetzloff comes running in, I jump out and smash a lamp over the back of his head. What an idiot, ha ha.
So anyway, I'm bashing his skull in, right, and my cousin comes back into the motel room to see what all the screaming is about. So I had to kill her too, because, you know, you don't want any witnesses to that kind of thing. And then I fucked her corpse because she was crazy super hot, right? And it's not like she could say no or anything. I mean, what would you do??
We All Hop for IHOP.
After a long, sweaty basketball practice, James, Jazzy Jeff, Jim, and Jimbo were hanging out down at the IHOP, like they always did, when their waitress, Karen came by to take their orders. She was 'their' waitress because she always worked in the same section, and they always sat at the exact same table.
"So, what'll it be tonight, boys?" she asked.
"The Us' (usual)" said James.
"Yeah, I'll have a cup o' coffee, a glass of OJ, a big steak omelette with 3 pigs in blankets in buttermilk pancakes with syrup and butter, 2 sides of bacon, and hash browns," said Jazzy Jeff.
Jazzy Jeff didn't have a usual order. Jazzy Jeff ordered something different every time, because he was jazzy.
He was also running out of new combinations. Soon he'd have to start combining items from the kid's menu with the Senior's Specials.
"The Us'" said Jim.
"I'll have what he's having" said Jimbo, motioning towards Jim.
This also happened to be Jimbo's usual order, because he always ordered exactly what Jim was having, whether or not Jim was having his Us'.
"Alright, boys," said Karen, "I'll have that out for you in a few minutes."
Just then, Clarence, the basketball team's towel boy, burst into the IHOP, and ran up to the guys' table. "Guys! Guys! Did you hear?? Old man Tetzloff kicked the bucket!!" he said.
Dr. Henry 'Old Man' Tetzloff, PhD. was the boys' history teacher. "Haha, stupid Tetzloff." said Jimbo.
"Wait, do you guys realize what this means?!" asked James.
"Yeah! No history test on Monday!" responded Jim, high-fiving Jazzy Jeff.
"Haha, stupid history test." said Jimbo.
"No, you guys don't understand!" said Clarence, anxiously. "Old man Tetzloff was putting up the money to send the team to regionals next month. Coach Jenkins says that now we'll never be able to afford the registration fee! I mean, where the hell are we gonna get seventy-five dollars?!"
"Don't you worry, kiddo," said James, "we'll think of something."
Clarence looked unconvinced. "I sure hope you guys do..." he said, "I already had those towels washed and folded... washed and folded." He wandered off, muttering something about wrinkles.
"Alright guys... how are we gonna do this?" asked James, as their food arrived.
They ate their meal in silence, each one trying, struggling to come up with some way, somehow, to make $75.
As their meal drew to a close, the fate of their trip to regionals was looking grim, until Jazzy Jeff took his last sip of OJ, and through the bottom of his glass he glimpsed one of the IHOP lights, which, refracted by the glass, sparkled and shone, just like a...
Jazzy Jeff slammed the glass down on the table, "I've got it!!!" he exclaimed. "We'll steal... The Hope Diamond!"
"Brilliant!" said Jim.
"Brilliant!" said Jimbo.
At first, James was skeptical, but after reconsidering the plan, he said "... Why, that's just jazzy enough to work, Jazzy Jeff!"
The next day, Jimbo booked the plane tickets, and payed for them too, because the other guys told him to, and before they knew it they were off, on their way to illustrious Washington D.C.
But then their plane hit a flock of Canada Geese and exploded, killing everyone on board.
It didn't matter anyway, they never would have won regionals, one of the other teams had a werewolf or something.
"So, what'll it be tonight, boys?" she asked.
"The Us' (usual)" said James.
"Yeah, I'll have a cup o' coffee, a glass of OJ, a big steak omelette with 3 pigs in blankets in buttermilk pancakes with syrup and butter, 2 sides of bacon, and hash browns," said Jazzy Jeff.
Jazzy Jeff didn't have a usual order. Jazzy Jeff ordered something different every time, because he was jazzy.
He was also running out of new combinations. Soon he'd have to start combining items from the kid's menu with the Senior's Specials.
"The Us'" said Jim.
"I'll have what he's having" said Jimbo, motioning towards Jim.
This also happened to be Jimbo's usual order, because he always ordered exactly what Jim was having, whether or not Jim was having his Us'.
"Alright, boys," said Karen, "I'll have that out for you in a few minutes."
Just then, Clarence, the basketball team's towel boy, burst into the IHOP, and ran up to the guys' table. "Guys! Guys! Did you hear?? Old man Tetzloff kicked the bucket!!" he said.
Dr. Henry 'Old Man' Tetzloff, PhD. was the boys' history teacher. "Haha, stupid Tetzloff." said Jimbo.
"Wait, do you guys realize what this means?!" asked James.
"Yeah! No history test on Monday!" responded Jim, high-fiving Jazzy Jeff.
"Haha, stupid history test." said Jimbo.
"No, you guys don't understand!" said Clarence, anxiously. "Old man Tetzloff was putting up the money to send the team to regionals next month. Coach Jenkins says that now we'll never be able to afford the registration fee! I mean, where the hell are we gonna get seventy-five dollars?!"
"Don't you worry, kiddo," said James, "we'll think of something."
Clarence looked unconvinced. "I sure hope you guys do..." he said, "I already had those towels washed and folded... washed and folded." He wandered off, muttering something about wrinkles.
"Alright guys... how are we gonna do this?" asked James, as their food arrived.
They ate their meal in silence, each one trying, struggling to come up with some way, somehow, to make $75.
As their meal drew to a close, the fate of their trip to regionals was looking grim, until Jazzy Jeff took his last sip of OJ, and through the bottom of his glass he glimpsed one of the IHOP lights, which, refracted by the glass, sparkled and shone, just like a...
Jazzy Jeff slammed the glass down on the table, "I've got it!!!" he exclaimed. "We'll steal... The Hope Diamond!"
"Brilliant!" said Jim.
"Brilliant!" said Jimbo.
At first, James was skeptical, but after reconsidering the plan, he said "... Why, that's just jazzy enough to work, Jazzy Jeff!"
The next day, Jimbo booked the plane tickets, and payed for them too, because the other guys told him to, and before they knew it they were off, on their way to illustrious Washington D.C.
But then their plane hit a flock of Canada Geese and exploded, killing everyone on board.
It didn't matter anyway, they never would have won regionals, one of the other teams had a werewolf or something.
Look on my works. aka When Pets Die, Doves Cry.
Jacob was an old man. He didn't look like one, but he was over four thousand years old. In his life he had had many thousands of friends, who had had hundreds of thousands of pets, and whenever one of his friends mourned the loss of a pet, he laughed at them.
After a while he laughed at his friends when they died too.
After a while he laughed at his friends when they died too.
Laundromat of Justice
It was not some sort of anthropomorphic, ambulatory, crime-fighting laundromat. No, Coates' Laundry was a laundromat in which just acts, and only just acts, took place. Nary a sock was lost there. The dryers never left a single article moist, or even damp.
In this laundromat bad people became good. Upon entering the building selfish people became generous, adulterers became faithful, liars became paragons of truth, felonious tortfeasors became ACLU lawyers, and utterly depraved, lecherous, fetishistic perverts became born-again virgins. And, perhaps most importantly of all, they all repented.
Unfortunately, once they left the laundromat they reverted to their lives of lies, theft, debauchery, and sadism, but the important thing, what really matters here, people, is that in this laundromat nobody ever stole anyone else's laundry. People with ample detergent shared with the less-detergent-fortunate. Pirates who brought their laptops to the laundromat for entertainment while waiting for their clothes to be clean and dry inexplicably and unquestioningly found themselves deleting all their pirated media and software. Adulterous married men, attending the laundromat with their wives, admitted their infidelity, apologized sincerely, hated themselves for it, and their wives, though hurt, accepted the news with grace, poise, and understanding. Pro-life and pro-choice persons, meeting by chance in this laundromat, came to an agreement on the issue of abortion on fourteen separate occasions. An Israeli and a Palestinian, even though neither of those peoples were ever in the laundromat at the same time, once embraced each other just outside it's front door.
Some folk even say Ruth Bader Ginsberg was born right there in that laundromat.
But then, one fateful night, that laundromat got bit by a coyote, and came down with the hydrophobie; and well; Ol' Travis, he did what he had to do.
In this laundromat bad people became good. Upon entering the building selfish people became generous, adulterers became faithful, liars became paragons of truth, felonious tortfeasors became ACLU lawyers, and utterly depraved, lecherous, fetishistic perverts became born-again virgins. And, perhaps most importantly of all, they all repented.
Unfortunately, once they left the laundromat they reverted to their lives of lies, theft, debauchery, and sadism, but the important thing, what really matters here, people, is that in this laundromat nobody ever stole anyone else's laundry. People with ample detergent shared with the less-detergent-fortunate. Pirates who brought their laptops to the laundromat for entertainment while waiting for their clothes to be clean and dry inexplicably and unquestioningly found themselves deleting all their pirated media and software. Adulterous married men, attending the laundromat with their wives, admitted their infidelity, apologized sincerely, hated themselves for it, and their wives, though hurt, accepted the news with grace, poise, and understanding. Pro-life and pro-choice persons, meeting by chance in this laundromat, came to an agreement on the issue of abortion on fourteen separate occasions. An Israeli and a Palestinian, even though neither of those peoples were ever in the laundromat at the same time, once embraced each other just outside it's front door.
Some folk even say Ruth Bader Ginsberg was born right there in that laundromat.
But then, one fateful night, that laundromat got bit by a coyote, and came down with the hydrophobie; and well; Ol' Travis, he did what he had to do.
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