I was already full. Case in point: She was toting a box of leftovers but I was not. Mine had been crammed down my gullet. This scenario would soon allow me to put my advanced decision-making skills on display.
We walked into the shop and it was what I like to describe as “Portland cute.” The place was constructed to look post-industrial. This means concrete walls, vaulted ceilings with lots of duct work, lighting fixtures that hang all the way down from the ceiling and, of course, the pièce de résistance of the Portland eatery scene: the fake garage door. Those things are ubiquitous around here, perhaps even on par with the fedora and other trendy chapeaux.
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There are two great mysteries in the life that one must unravel before traveling to the Great Beyond. One is the nature of the Bermuda Triangle. The other is, of course, how gerbils cause household items to go missing from the space-time continuum.
Today we uncover a disturbing piece of evidence that goes a long way towards explaining what really happens. I took the following raw footage at great risk of life and limb.
If you’re not willing to invest one minute and 44 seconds of your precious existence in the following ode to cinema, then I guess you really do hate my guts.
Hang on tight and be prepared for the twist at the end. “I see gerbil people!!!”
Change of Address
I live on the surface of a rotating planetoid. The speed of rotation is approx. 1,000 miles per hour.
Meanwhile, the planet itself is moving about 67,000 miles per hour around the sun.
The sun is the center of our solar system, which is also moving around the center of our galaxy at approx. 490,000 miles per hour.
The galaxy is moving towards something called the Great Attractor, appox. 150 million light years away, at a rate of 1,000 kilometers per second.
In other words, I just want it to be known my physical location on this planetoid is changing by about 2.5 degrees of latitude. That’s a lot!
A pending move means boxes. Packing lots and lots of boxes.
The more you pack the more exhausted you get.
The more exhausted you get the more you require peaceful, restful sleep.
The more you require sleep the more the more you lie in bed with your eyes open.
Can’t sleep. Might as well get up and pack some more boxes and make myself more tired.
Boo freakin’ hoo. To my way of thinking that’s like worrying about one turd shitting on another.
Still, I thought it might be a good idea to reminisce a few moments about the proverbial good times of ye olde mom and pop. The good old days and the “little man” of Alan Jackson lore.
Brick and mortar? Mom and pop? Who the hell is in charge of naming this shit? Dr. Seuss? Family jewels are found in aisle 42. Bait and tackle in aisle 69. That reminds me: “Clean up on aisle 69!”
I’ve already written quite a bit about Mr. Online Entrepreneur. He’s slippery, slimy and makes jackals and amebas seem like highly evolved life forms. He lies about everything including – most especially – that the product you want is “in stock.” Then he gets your money and you wait weeks to find out if you’ll ever get the product he just totally lied about or if you’ll ever get your money back. Good times.
How about Mr. Brick Mortar? How does he compare? And who is this guy?
Does the plethora of dings on the side of your car give you any kind of freakin’ clue?
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