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Fell asleep on the bus and woke up at my porch right at the crack of dawn with a 5 dollar torn up and stuffed into my left pants leg and a clay figurine of myself lying down and sleeping left to my side

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excuse me im reading my big fucking RSS newspaper OK

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OK Rimworld is BACK! Last I left off: Divorce and assbeatage. What else is new.

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Everyday I wake up and think about FDR’s second bill of rights

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The Super Mario Bros. Super Show: “Mario and the Beanstalk” [01218/6788]

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Everyday I wake up and think about FDR’s second bill of rights

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human who thinks furs are unethical so she wears a little living dragon around her shoulders

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you say to me here is a woman. she's insane and irreparably broken and probably a danger to herself and others. and i say yay yippee woohoo! and things of this nature

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baby will solace awwwwww awwwwwwwh awwwww

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The Hover-Couches were the thing I hated to sell most. Out of all the things in the Mattress Mattress in which I worked, this bit of furniture meant more trouble than anything else. I would rather have sold three hundred Talking Fridges or Thinking Coffee Tables than even a single one of the Hover-Couches.

Even now, people ask me: why would you give up all that sweet, sweet commission from the Hover-Couch Corporation? I'll tell you why. At the Mattress Mattress, we had an "open door" policy. Any random asshole could come in off the street and start testing out the furniture. My boss loved this idea. He said it's how things used to be done in the glory days of First Earth, back in the nineteen-seventies.

Our Mattress Mattress was also next to a bar, so once in awhile you'd see some folks come down from off-planet for a sidewalk sale, get coked up, and decide to take it out on the furniture. Today was one such day.

"Ralph-12," screamed the woman who I told the police was probably named Juliette Koors, "what the fuck?"

There's probably more to the sentence after that, but none of us heard it. She was instantly sent to the fucking moon, a howling hover-engine diminishing from view our last chance to see her corporeal form. That's when the haunting began, but that's a story for another employment insurance claim.

"I said don't touch the recline button," I deadpanned in probably the best (and certainly the last) joke of my furniture sales career. Ralph-12 did not laugh. Emile Simile, the vat-grown printgirl working the parts desk, did laugh. She only took a break from the laughter to visit the bathroom, and you could still hear her cackling in there through the door.

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When you talk to bicycle people, they have a lot of things to say. Some of those things sound a little bit kooky. Last month, a guy at the free bike repair co-op (I was borrowing several sockets and a hammer) was telling me that riding a bicycle around lets you know your neighbours better. Shyeah right, I snorted to myself. Because you'll yell at them for trying to back over you with their Acura RDX.

They're right, though. Throughout history, the bicycle has brought people together. Because you get tired and have to stop all the time, it means you visit lemonade stands more frequently. Lemonade stands, while an illegal form of dining establishment that often evades enforcement and judiciary oversight due to their use of child labour, are often also run by an adult. And nothing makes an adult happier than seeing you buy stuff from their kids so that they can go back inside sooner and drive their Acura RDX somewhere.

Once you've made that face time, it's hard for people to forget. You become part of the tribe in their minds. Our species evolved looking at a bunch of other apes hanging out in close proximity, not with those same apes behind tinted glass travelling a hundred kilometres an hour in a school zone. That bicycle is closer to what one of those apes would ride than not. If they had been invented just a few years earlier, the Bible would be full of rad BMX tips instead of a bunch of stories about walking places. Would Christ drive an Acura RDX? Depends on which dealership you ask the salesman at.

What I'm trying to get at is: go out there for a ride. Every alley has a bicycle or two abandoned in it, so the cost of entry is low. Meet your neighbours. Drink their kids' lemon-adjacent sugar beverages. Ingratiate yourself to them subconsciously. You never know when you'll need to borrow some tools from them, or have them hide you in the back of their Acura RDX to get through a police cordon when the shit really hits the fan. I will admit that's a good use for one. Lots of room back there. Hard to conceal a fugitive in a Cannondale.

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you will describe tummy/waist fat as a "muffin top" (yummy treat?) and "love handles" (most romantic phrase ever?) and mean it in a derogatory way? when these things are obviously good?

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I love you Sebago, I would die for you Sebago

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I love you Sebago, I would die for you Sebago

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yuri is the best ever in the world and if you dont agree you are a homophobe

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if you do not read articles, you are not allowed to interact with our blog. sorry. it’s just how it is.