“We tried traps. But the cat is too stupid for standard moosetraps–I’m afraid she’d get caught–and the glue traps were just tragic. There’s nothing like pulling out the fridge and seeing a dejected ton of moose huddled in the corner, looking at you with enormous brown eyes, each hoof glued solidly down to the floor.”
Update on Sub-Genius Child Custody Case.
GM is running a contest to “make your own” commercial for the gas-guzzling Tahoe SUV. General Motors has teamed up with Donald Trump’s ‘The Apprentice’ franchise to create a website that allows prospectives to make their own commercials online. The website allows readers to select backgrounds, video shots, and input text in an attempt to win prizes. Instead, they are getting justly served. The internet is finding it’s own uses. Common sense says these won’t be left up for very long, so steal them now.
one, two, three, four, five, six.
edit: the best one is the one my roommate Graham made, here.
operatic lederhosen boy child
Imogene is fantastic. She came into the shop yesterday with a small gift of grapes and the better gift of her company. I asked her to dinner and we talked about the men in our life and our boring jobs and a million little things that make it easier to get to know someone. I brought her home with me then over to Duncan’s for a mini-quickie-culture night. We melted down truffles and dipped chunks of my publishing pineapple in it. It was more fun than I think I’ve had in awhile. No pressure, no expectations, no having to worry about other people. It was refreshing. A good precursor to a morning that would have left me far more upset without it.
Just a general note to the world, here, I think. Unless you are my partner or we work together, I do not answer to you. Assuming otherwise will result in my gently easing you entirely out of my life, to be spoken at only at other people’s social arrangements or in accidental public encounters.
Speaking of social arrangements. Meat Night is tonight. A group of people is gathering together to buy a Priscilla Platter at the Memphis Street Blues BBQ Grill at 7 o’clock. It’s the size of two Elvis platters, and so therefore likely more meat than you have ever encountered outside of an Albertan wedding. And before you get on my case about over-consumption and all of the other “we live in a first world” politics that may spring to mind over such an outing, please direct them to Bob, as I am mostly along because I am slowly starving to death while waiting for a bank transfer or a paycheque, whichever comes first.
cute to make the brain misfire