Here’s what I would’ve writ yesterday if two things didn’t happen: first, the thingo I write in vanished right before my eyes, taking with it several paras of carefully worded, effulgent effluvia. Then the whole server goes down for half a day. But you don’t need to know this.
“ Late one afternoon in 1991, Norm Hankoff was standing at his kitchen sink, scarfing down tuna salad, using extra-strength, corrugated potato chips as utensils.
Inexplicably, something compelled him to raise his eyes in mid-chew. There, just like in every comic book, above his head he saw a light bulb burning brightly. As he stood there puzzled, directly above the bulb appeared not the traditional word IDEA, but the letters SINKIE. At that instant, what he saw finally made sense. Hankoff, and millions of others around the world, had, for hundreds of years, been ”SINKIES“ without realizing it. ”
I’ve quite a thing for toast at lunch. Toast with promite or with hummus and mushroom — falls into this anomalous category where it’s gone too quickly to bother with a plate but too crumby to sprawl tummy-down on the carpet with, plateless. Other toast, like tomato, has more potential for catastrophe but if I’m not going to bother with a plate for the other kind of fucken toast then why would I with this?
What are these old people singing?
A) The Cars, ‘Let the good times roll’
B) Roll over Beethoven
C) satanic summoning chants
D) The Cars, ‘Drive’
E) none of the above
Photos with semi-celebrities added to this entry back here.