You're walking down the street. You've got your 12-inch inseam jeans
rolled up on one side. You've got your hair pulled back in your knit
cap. You're a badass mofo who doesn't take any shit. As you saunter
along, you take a swig of milk, drinking it straight from the
jug. Nobody fucks with a man walking down the street with an open
milk jug. Nobody.
"Do you think this bench will support us, Ethel?"
creeeeeeaaaaaak
"Seems fine, Ethel. Come and join me!"
"Well, ok, if you say so, Hilda. I could use a rest too. These
old bones aren't..."
Crack! Thud.
"I tell you, Hilda, that is the last time I listen to you! Now
help me get these splinters out of my butt."
"Dude, the fucking rock is nowhere around here. Are you sure we didn't take a wrong turn?"
"I dunno, man, but the pledge trainer is gonna give us hell if we come back with all this spray paint and say we didn't do anything."
"Well, how about we paint this truck? It's big, and like, yellow, you know?"
"Whatever, man. My head fucking hurts. What were we supposed to write, anyway?"
"Damned if I can remember. Whatever comes to mind, I guess..."
I totally agree, except I think you meant to say "gasoline."
All: "We are, we are, we are, we are, we are the engineers..."
Engineer 1: "Uh... are you sure? I thought we were gypsy seers."
Engineer 2: "Well, lemme check my business cards. Uh... it says I'm a 'Research Associate'."
All: "We are, we are, we are, we are, we are the research associates..."
Engineer 1: "Dude, it doesn't fucking scan that way."
Engineer 2: "Well, let's just sing the next line."
All: "We can, we can, we can, we can, demolish forty piers..."
Engineer 2: "You missed a note."
All: "Drink!"
[if you don't get it, note that the building to the right is Walker]
"Why," you ask, "are they planting a forest of boards in the middle of
the street?" I'll tell you. It all started several years ago, with
the Save the
Naugas campaign. In response to hundreds of protests around the
country, laws were finally passed to ban the slaughter of innocent
cuddly naugas. However, it remains legal to use naugas which died
naturally or were killed accidentally.
This, then, is the reason for the board forest in the middle of the
street. By building a nauga habitat in the middle of the street, the
shameless nauga cartel is hoping to generate a constant stream of
roadkilled naugas whose hides can be harvested! This utterly
unconscionable activity must cease immediately. Join me next saturday
at 11:00 for a protest march.
a word from our sponsor, the American Council of Plastics
Producers:
Plastic bags will allow you to imbibe your beverage of choice just as discreetly as paper, and they have additional benefits! Plastic bags have handles, so even after you've been enjoying the contents for awhile, you won't let go and make an expensive mess. Plastic bags are waterproof, so your drink can get as soaked as you do. Finally, plastic bags are less scratcy, so when you're done with their contents and need to catch a few winks, you can use them as a comfortable headrest.
Plastic. It's the future.
In 1946, Philip J. Pfinkmeyer Jr. bought a can of paint. He used it
to paint the ceiling in the room of his new son, Philip J. Pfinkmeyer
III. There was some paint left over, so he stored it in the basement.
In 1953, his wife Ethel Pfinkmeyer asked him to throw out the old paint. Philip refused, insisting that when his son Philip was older, he could use it to paint the bedroom of his grandson, Philip J. Pfinkmeyer IV. "Throw out anything else," said Philip to Ethel. "Throw away my silk bathrobe! Throw away my grandfather's watch! but don't throw away my son's can of paint!"
In 1982, Ethel Pfinkmeyer tried once again to throw away the paint. This time, she didn't ask; she just put it out on the curb. but you have to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on Philip J. Pfinkmeyer Jr., and Ethel didn't get up early enough. Philip rescued the can of paint, and hid it. Ethel begged and pleaded, but Philip would not relent. "Throw away anything else!" he said. "Throw away my wide ties! Throw away my 8-track collection! Throw away my autographed Jimmy Carter model Iranian embassy kit! but don't throw away my son's can of paint!" Ethel reminded him that his son had moved away years ago and hadn't taken the paint. "He'll come around", said Philip.
In 1998, Philip J. Pfinkmeyer Jr. died in a tragic electric can opener accident. In his will, he left his can of paint to his son, Philip J. Pfinkmeyer III, who responded by saying "dad was a bit out of it towards the end, wasn't he." He sounded very sincere as he said it, in spite of the fact that 72 3/8% of his mental faculties were being used to calculate just which model of Mercedes-Benz he could buy with the monetary part of his inheritance.
In 2003, Ethel Pfinkmeyer ran across the can of paint while
cleaning out her late husband's collection of soiled celebrity
panties, and sent it to its doom.
Zombie outbreaks are serious business. Throughout history, various
methods have been attempted to fight off zombie hordes, ranging from
crosses and holy water to garlic to cremation. In this enlightened
age, however, even liches attempting to raise great armies of undead
have rights, and before they can be burned or have a stake driven
through their heart, they need to receive a fair trial just like
anyone else. Of course, to get a conviction, one needs solid
evidence. Thus, this sign gives warning to undead necromancers
everywhere that their actions may be videotaped and used against them
in a court of law.
Spring and Summer are presumably more desirable as street names
because they evoke warm seasons; as you may know, warm seasons do not
actually occur in New England except for one month of scorching heat
in the middle of the summer.
In Suffolk and Middlesex counties of Massachusetts, I counted street names as follows:
| Fall | 2 |
| Autumn | 5 |
| Summer | 5 |
| Winter | 11 |
| Spring | 26 |
You can't see it in this picture, but I'm sure the plaque says:
Tower to be Used
for the Hanging
of White Collar Theives
Those that Live by the Business Report
Shall Die by the Business Report
Across the street is Nethack Boulevard, and down the block is Rogue
Terrace.
Copyright (C) 2010 by
Terran Melconian.
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