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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04

2002-04-26 ... 3:08 p.m.

From the window of the bus I have seen things. (I say what I have seen and believe; and whoever says I have not seen what I have seen, I will now tear off his head. For I am an unpardonable Brute, and so I shall be until Time is no longer Time.) Here is the thing I have most recently seen. On Milwaukee Avenue there is a very baffling store. It is called WIGS AND PLUS. As if "plus" were a noun all to itself. Also, the redundancy. That store wants to be called WIGS PLUS PLUS. Doubleplus wigthink ungood!

It is ever so slightly alarming (if you are like me and easily alarmed) that one can just walk in off the street and buy a wig. And then wear a wig. Just like it's nothing, as if it matters not. There should be a waiting period for wig-wearing like there is for gun-buying.

I think I really am having an attack of nerves. I didn't visit a house of prostitution over lunch, though, I'm just all tired and feeling trembly and weird. The parsimonious explanation for my trembly weirdness and inappropriate giggling and need to sit all contorted and strange would be not enough sleep and too much jittersauce last night. (That is an old slang term for liquor, and I provide this parenthetical explanation in case you did not know that and your imagination was postulating that I have switched vices, from beer to amphetamine-laced applesauce. Although, right about now, the idea of amphetamine-laced applesauce sounds kind of attractive. All right who's with me? I'll bring the trucker speed if you bring the Mott's.)

Wow. I am completely amazed at my mental hyperlinks, but I really do have a story to tell about drugs and applesauce. My college was too small to have its own Health Service, but it had contracted with a couple of doctors in town to treat us crazy mixed-up kids for free. There was this one old croaker on Main Street that was widely known around campus for basically handing out all kinds of pills. He was very free and easy with the controlled narcotics, often giving up the free samples even if you didn't ask or hint or anything. Because of this he was very popular. At the time I was getting these crazy painful cluster headaches, and one day I just couldn't take it anymore so I went to see him. And he gave me samples of Xanax, which is not even appropriate for headaches, and suggested that I take one before leaving his office. I dutifully did so, partly because hey why not get a little loopy, I've got no more classes today, and partly because he is a doctor, even if a sketchy one, and my head hurt so bad I was willing to try anything. I swallow the Xanax and it hits me hard on the walk back to campus, I'm floating over the lawn with a angelic faraway grin on my face, and it's dinnertime so I show up at the cafeteria. My friends were well versed in the ways of Substances so they immediately knew something was up, but I was too stoned to try and explain it to them, and too stoned to even think about chewing food, so I got a bowl of applesauce and sat back down. I was swirling the applesauce around and watching it drip off the spoon and being very quiet, and everyone kind of forgot about me, until I started scraping the spoon back and forth on the bowl in a rhythmic fashion and suddenly interrupted the whole table's conversation to say "Guess what song I'm playing in my applesauce!" That became a sort of drug-taking catchphrase at school, and it was very embarrassing and I never did live it down, and I cannot fucking believe that I have told it here. I are a moron.

IN THE ROARING TRAFFIC'S BOOM, IN THE SILENCE OF MY LONELY ROOM (alternate title: here are some links)

Each of these incident reports reads like the beginning to a nonexistent Raymond Carver story.

Damn, Dennis! You are one angry dude.

Text-based pong.

They still don't tell you how much is toxic. But it does seem to imply that you shouldn't eat toothpaste, and since I DO eat toothpaste I am kind of worried.


From a brochure my workplace handed out about fire safety (no I don't know why either): "Never fight fires if you are in doubt." What kind of doubt? Epistemological doubt? Ontological doubt? Can the fire sense your doubt and exploit it? You can never show fear, with a fire. On a doubtful note, I really like this, which seems to be all about doubt.

Swedish fish awareness network.

This DJ guy couldn't find any swedish fish in Sweden, which leads me to believe that swedish fish are not all that Swedish. But the internet is still silent as to proof of that hypothesis.

I know that they can be pretty hard on the eyes.

Today it also occurred to us ("us" being me and the Manson Family/Heaven's Gate-style death cult I hang out with) that if IKEA ever needed a spokesmuppet, they should ask the Swedish Chef. Because he is Swedish. It's right there as part of his name. Did I mention I am really tired right now?

Nine-year-old Nick's very nice story about a very terrible disease.

Okay now I am tired.

---mimi smartypants has more stories than J. D.'s got Salinger.


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