Now, I enjoy a good, high quality cup of coffee as much as the next person who enjoys a good, high quality cup of coffee. But I think the marketing for this stuff has gotten out of control:
Bold, yet fruity, with a complex aftertaste reminiscent of saddle leather, pomegranate, and cedar, this coffee confers status upon the drinker. Each individual bean is gummed from the coffee bush by a Guatemalan infant, certified to be no older than 18 months, and carried by the mother in an organic cotton, hand-woven baby sling. Quantities are limited.
I'm stuck behind a woman, an old
Not too many people know this, but on the western outskirts of Sequim, next to the sign that informs that you are leaving the Sequim city limits, there is a sign that reads:
I have to say that I am thoroughly enjoying publishing items that other people have sent me without their permission. Any complaints may be sent to my lawyer, the Hon. Robert Q. Gofuckyourself.
Let's all just jump on the amorphic glob trend!
It's like having a cool giant skylight in your ugly ass cement basement. Cement floors, steel ceilings, glass walls, just like a big warehouse of the future - I'm guessing it's really loud.
the red hallway reminds me of a 'walk through the lungs' type science exhibit. Or something out of the death star.
So how much did this "masterpiece" cost? Seems to me that if an architect gets to go off on as building he should pay us. On the other hand if there is no fucking fish art then maybe it's worth it.
What's the budget to clean all the glass? In 20 years it's gonna look like shit. in 30 they tear it down.
Several people have left our company lately. Some will be missed more than others.
This is sad for me because
1) she's from Montana, and
b) I saw her and her husband in Fred Meyer once laughing themselves sick in the cracker section. I snuck up behind them and surprised them, and they turned around almost in tears (and with very red eyes, if you know what I mean) and showed me a box of crackers called Baked Socialites.
I remember that back in my college anthropology courses, I learned that the so-called "primitive" cultures only work an average of 4-6 hours a day. The rest of their time is spent getting drunk, laying around, making up songs, et cetera. How is it that in our country, the puritanical workhorse assholes have taken over our society and convinced everyone that free time is an EVIL SIN to be avoided at ALL COSTS or else COMMUNISTS and other GODLESS BOHEMIANS will take over and RUIN EVERYTHING?
The following is a paid advertisement
Remember when I use to supply rooster blood to the B.C. hospitals in Vancouver for Rubella testing. Well I kept my chickens out on a farm near White Rock and after work I would drive out there and bleed out (exsanguinate) 6 -7 huge broiler breeder roosters (a good 15# each) I would develop a powerful hunger (mainly because it was about 7-8 o'clock at night when I finished and that was when we lived in Kitsilano in Vancouver.) So immediately following the big chicken bleed out and carrying these huge dead roosters in the front of my Karmann Ghia I would pull into Kentucky Fried in Cloverdale and order up a huge 9 piece box of KFC and devour the whole thing during the trip into the city. Ha!
If that wasn't bad enough, one night I got arrested for speeding! In the front seat was my Col. Sander's box of chicken with half eaten pieces and bones and soiled napkins lying all around all over the place. In the back seat was an open box of 10 big 250 ml bottles of chicken blood and in the trunk was the biggest pile of dead roosters you can imagine (could hardy get the hood down). So when the cop comes up to my car he sees that I've been chowing down and he starts lecturing me about the dangers of dining and driving at the same time and then suddenly he notices these bottles of red liquid in the back seat. Immediately suspicious but with hesitation he asks me what these are. I say "Rooster blood" and with that a look of frightened horror spreads over his face which turns into a countenance of total revulsion and terror. ....and right now he demands to know what I was going to do with it! He looked like he was getting ready to draw his service revolver!! At this point I'm sure he thought I was some sort of perverted avian satanic cult member that sacrificed chickens and used their blood to wash down KFC chicken and biscuits. Ha! I really thought my goose was cooked (so to speak) and I was praying he would not search my car to confirm his suspicions because if he would of discovered that big dead pile of blood-stained roosters I would of been in the Canadian equivalent of Steilacoom for life and definitely been prosecuted as Cloverdales only known Chicken Vampire in the Annals of Canadian Crime..............
I have decided that all future projects I am associated with need to feature the Shriners. This is primarily because I really like: a) fezzes and b) elderly men careening haphazardly through crowds of parade-goers in go karts.
Here is an eyewitness report from a recent local wedding. It has been edited to restore the cuss words that were originally censored.
In the future everyone who doesn't flunk out of English class will be issued a blog so they have a place to complain about not making money. I would have my own blog, but then I would feel pressure to produce columns, and then I would start resenting my boss (which would be me), and start doing things to undermine the column. Finally I would have to fire myself, and then be totally relieved because I hated that damn job anyway but couldn't admit it to myself because I thought I needed the paycheck, but then realize that no paycheck (not even a nonexistent one) is worth it when you have to work for an asshole like that.
I like brown liquor, strong beer, barbeque, and brunettes. Also, you suck.