Transferred $10 into my lonely long-term savings account today.
That doesn't preclude withdrawing $40 later this month, but at least it's an effort.
I now have about $420 socked away for retirement.
With that money, I plan to buy an old tin pail, some rubber boots and a giggin' stick. I hope I'll still have my guitar by that point, 'cuz I'll need it to earn safe passage to the south. My skillful coaxin' of soulful tunes from the device shall pay my walkin' fare to the Gulf Coast, where all the survivors will one day reassemble, flush with their newfound wealth sprung from the reconstruction.
I will gig for frogs.
I will sell them on the highway.
Then I shall die -- a wise, happy, deeply-tanned old man.
My kin and those few others whom I will have left behind shall be forced to follow in my footsteps, southward, in order to claim my property: an old tin pail, some used rubber boots, a perfectly fine giggin' stick, my worn-out guitar, and the $300 million dollars I will have earned sellin' frogs on the highway to tourists and wealthy reconstructionist surviviors who, despite their better judgement, still fancy a few frog legs for supper.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
Find both truth and fiction in the following account:
Today, I discovered several sets of stolen keys discarded near the dumpster behind the office of my current employer. The keys were not just any keys, but ones stamped with with the warning "DO NOT DUPLICATE." Alongside them were a recent bank statement (about $3,000 in the account), various documents containing sensitive personal information (social security numbers, dates of birth, names and numbers) and three baseballs, slightly scuffed. Inside the dumpster, there was trash.
I deduced that the items belonged to different people. Not the trash -- the trash isn't important.
Like Mike Hammer, I tracked down the items' owners. I called the locksmith who forged the keys and followed the leads. My investigation revealed that they had been stolen from a facility manager's car the night before. The other documents were stolen from different cars in the same area on the same night.
I had uncovered a crime spree!
Like Bruce Wayne, I called the owners and invited them to collect their stolen property, and then I alerted the authorities. A young blonde sheriff's deputy was assigned the case. When she arrived two hours later, she immediately unstrapped her holster and ripped off her shirt, revealing milky-white breasts heaving with anticipation.
Like John Holmes, I pleasured her.
She informed me that a man living in a nearby apartment building was recently arrested in an identity theft sting. He had purchased a $30,000 boat using somebody else's name. The deputy wondered aloud whether my discovery was connected to her case, and then kissed the flesh of my inner thighs with her large, perfectly shaped lips (The cases weren't connected. I could have told her that. My man was a small-time operator, an opportunist who committed foul deeds in the southern reaches of the metropolitan area. Her guy lived nearby, and was already in jail.)
"But," she added between kisses, "Another identity thief was recently discovered living a few miles south of here." She suspected he might be responsible for the stolen property by the dumpster.
"Let's go," I told her. "Time is running short."
I dressed. She strapped on her sidearm, but left her uniform shirt on the floor. Topless, excepting shoulder holster, she winked at me; and the two of us sprinted to her cruiser.
"I'll drive," I said. "You navigate."
I wore my dark sunglasses and a street-smart smile. As we blew down South Parker Road, the deputy brandished her badge, tossed her head and winked again. She threw the badge out the window as if to say, "I now fight crime the effective way -- the vigilante way." Her hair was beautiful in the wind.
For my part, I abandoned my slow-paced life as a millionaire horse-racer.
Off we went: a pretty young pistol-packing deputy and a brilliant and handsome -- if unschooled -- criminal investigator. What an unlikely, yet successful pair. She was a Charlie-Angel, I was a Tom Cruise detective. We captured many dangerous criminals.
What a story to tell. Every word true.
I deduced that the items belonged to different people. Not the trash -- the trash isn't important.
Like Mike Hammer, I tracked down the items' owners. I called the locksmith who forged the keys and followed the leads. My investigation revealed that they had been stolen from a facility manager's car the night before. The other documents were stolen from different cars in the same area on the same night.
I had uncovered a crime spree!
Like Bruce Wayne, I called the owners and invited them to collect their stolen property, and then I alerted the authorities. A young blonde sheriff's deputy was assigned the case. When she arrived two hours later, she immediately unstrapped her holster and ripped off her shirt, revealing milky-white breasts heaving with anticipation.
Like John Holmes, I pleasured her.
She informed me that a man living in a nearby apartment building was recently arrested in an identity theft sting. He had purchased a $30,000 boat using somebody else's name. The deputy wondered aloud whether my discovery was connected to her case, and then kissed the flesh of my inner thighs with her large, perfectly shaped lips (The cases weren't connected. I could have told her that. My man was a small-time operator, an opportunist who committed foul deeds in the southern reaches of the metropolitan area. Her guy lived nearby, and was already in jail.)
"But," she added between kisses, "Another identity thief was recently discovered living a few miles south of here." She suspected he might be responsible for the stolen property by the dumpster.
"Let's go," I told her. "Time is running short."
I dressed. She strapped on her sidearm, but left her uniform shirt on the floor. Topless, excepting shoulder holster, she winked at me; and the two of us sprinted to her cruiser.
"I'll drive," I said. "You navigate."
I wore my dark sunglasses and a street-smart smile. As we blew down South Parker Road, the deputy brandished her badge, tossed her head and winked again. She threw the badge out the window as if to say, "I now fight crime the effective way -- the vigilante way." Her hair was beautiful in the wind.
For my part, I abandoned my slow-paced life as a millionaire horse-racer.
Off we went: a pretty young pistol-packing deputy and a brilliant and handsome -- if unschooled -- criminal investigator. What an unlikely, yet successful pair. She was a Charlie-Angel, I was a Tom Cruise detective. We captured many dangerous criminals.
What a story to tell. Every word true.
Friday, September 02, 2005
What's with all the SHOOTING?
Where are all the NRA members when you need them? Not in fucking New Orleans, because the only gunmen there seem to be street thugs looking for new clothing and madmen intent on bagging the greatest prey of all: human fucking beings.
Law and order take a hike and we immediately resort to violence? I don't get it. I don't recall snipers attacking refugees of last year's tsunami. But here in America, we do catastrophe right -- is that how it is? Click, Click, BANG!" in the Superdome, at the hospitals and in the flooded streets?
Nice.
Goddamned animals.
Live it up, fuckers. You're never gonna get a better chance to explore your inner idiot.
Law and order take a hike and we immediately resort to violence? I don't get it. I don't recall snipers attacking refugees of last year's tsunami. But here in America, we do catastrophe right -- is that how it is? Click, Click, BANG!" in the Superdome, at the hospitals and in the flooded streets?
Nice.
Goddamned animals.
Live it up, fuckers. You're never gonna get a better chance to explore your inner idiot.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
More on heaven and hell
"Good heavens! You are hellish fun!"
"What the hell are you doing in my heaven? Get offa my cloud!"
"Hell, yeah!"
"Heavens, No!"
"That woman has heavenly thighs. I'd give a hell-of-a-lot of money to stroke them with a wet paintbrush."
"What the hell?"
"Heaven sakes!"
"Heaven help us."
"To hell with us."
"With rockets like that, she must be sent straight from heaven."
"She's a hellcat in the sack.
"What the hell are you doing in my heaven? Get offa my cloud!"
"Hell, yeah!"
"Heavens, No!"
"That woman has heavenly thighs. I'd give a hell-of-a-lot of money to stroke them with a wet paintbrush."
"What the hell?"
"Heaven sakes!"
"Heaven help us."
"To hell with us."
"With rockets like that, she must be sent straight from heaven."
"She's a hellcat in the sack.
Heaven and Hell: Suggestions for their use in sermons
Eloquent, with modern elements:
"Downloaded from on high, perhaps from heaven, the latest updates shower us with golden joy, god-ish in the way they improve our soggy existence.
"Uploaded from below, certainly from hell, our petty, vain efforts to improve our lot on this planet do nothing but interfere with god's work.
"Look upward for software updates, but always be wary of downstream inquiries. Guard your backsides, as the devil strives to shove stuff up your butts!
Persuasive:
"If you ain't with god, you're agin' him. Get yo' ass up to heaven, or I send u 2 hell!"
Like Wimpy the hamburger man:
"Give me some money today, and I promise to pay you back when we're all dead in heaven."
Quote a lyric:
"Go forth. Be ye good, be ye pious, be ye gentle, my tender flock, for you will be '...cli-imbing [the] stai-airway [pause] to hea-ven.' [pause for masterful guitar]"
Comparison/Contrast:
"Hell is a suffocating cavern of magma and sulfur, buried deep in the earth's core, where demons force the damned to suck Satan's white-hot genitalia until their mouths catch fire.
"Heaven, by contrast, is freezing cold and full of fluttering angels. The saved kneel alongside history's finest men and women, and together they warm God's frozen genitals for eternity while he dispenses kindly wisdom."
Helpful:
"I suggest you strive for heaven, because that's where ice cream goes when it dies. I'd steer clear of hell if I were you -- the "hellies" only get okra, overcooked spinach and sardines."
Bullet points:
Heaven:
- well-lit
- spacious
- "right side of tracks"
- eternal happiness
- the "safe bet"
Hell:
- eternal misery
- "nanny state"
- high-crime
- "tax-and-spend"
- prison-like decor
"Downloaded from on high, perhaps from heaven, the latest updates shower us with golden joy, god-ish in the way they improve our soggy existence.
"Uploaded from below, certainly from hell, our petty, vain efforts to improve our lot on this planet do nothing but interfere with god's work.
"Look upward for software updates, but always be wary of downstream inquiries. Guard your backsides, as the devil strives to shove stuff up your butts!
Persuasive:
"If you ain't with god, you're agin' him. Get yo' ass up to heaven, or I send u 2 hell!"
Like Wimpy the hamburger man:
"Give me some money today, and I promise to pay you back when we're all dead in heaven."
Quote a lyric:
"Go forth. Be ye good, be ye pious, be ye gentle, my tender flock, for you will be '...cli-imbing [the] stai-airway [pause] to hea-ven.' [pause for masterful guitar]"
Comparison/Contrast:
"Hell is a suffocating cavern of magma and sulfur, buried deep in the earth's core, where demons force the damned to suck Satan's white-hot genitalia until their mouths catch fire.
"Heaven, by contrast, is freezing cold and full of fluttering angels. The saved kneel alongside history's finest men and women, and together they warm God's frozen genitals for eternity while he dispenses kindly wisdom."
Helpful:
"I suggest you strive for heaven, because that's where ice cream goes when it dies. I'd steer clear of hell if I were you -- the "hellies" only get okra, overcooked spinach and sardines."
Bullet points:
Heaven:
- well-lit
- spacious
- "right side of tracks"
- eternal happiness
- the "safe bet"
Hell:
- eternal misery
- "nanny state"
- high-crime
- "tax-and-spend"
- prison-like decor
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
