When You Wish Upon A Star Wars
Once upon a time I decided to live tweet/microblog the storm of the century.
I’m talking about, of course, the acquisition of Lucasfilm (including the Star Wars franchise) by Disney. Weather phenomena are dwarfed in significance by the galactic magnitude of this event.
Let the news be spread far and wide, all the way to the Outer Rim systems. (Some of you will get this joke.)
Today’s regularly scheduled post has been cancelled so I can bring you continuing coverage of this breaking arm-slicing news.
By the time you read this post, workers will have pulled down the “Skywalker Ranch” sign and replaced it with “Mickey Mouse Ranch.” It doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it? And the statue of Yoda in the courtyard will have been replaced by Jiminy Cricket. Such is the way of things. One philosopher gets traded in for another. Such is the way of The Force.
Disney imagineers are already hard at work to bring more fire scenes to the continuing saga of the Star Wars and, most likely, a few hidden references to “sex” for those freeze-frame fanatics willing to find them. You can’t imagine how good it feels to find an animator’s easter egg hidden in a Disney film. And for most of these egg hunters it’s the one and only time they’ll ever find “sex.” Ha ha ha.
Enough talk! More tweets. I’ve been looking forward to having you for dinner.
–Darth Vader to Sebastian the Crab
Without further ado, bring on the tweets!
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“Damn you, Shouts! Damn you to hell! There’s a price to be paid as you know very well.”
Don’t Look Now (It Ain’t Mitt Romney)
Who will pay his fair share of tax?
Who will shoot straight with all the facts?
Who’ll watch out for even you and me?
Don’t look now, it ain’t Mitt Romney.
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Yo, Jack! Handy Creep Thoughts by Tom Taker
Don’t you want to play with me? Hugs!
Tom’s Law #42
Never accept personal hygiene advice from someone who smells like the laundry hamper from the high school football team’s locker room.
Perhaps you’ve met the sort. The sort that acts superior like they are somehow better than you in every way. I guess you have to grudgingly admire an overactive imagination:
I’m smarter than you. Except everything I do ends up being the most idiotic shit you’ve ever seen.
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Throw Momma From The Brain #dark #morose #skipit
What are the odds? My wife and I are just lucky I guess. In the span of only a few weeks we got to witness not one but two horrible displays of human nature, and both in the same place.
There’s a tiny little cafe in our town where the prices are decades behind the times and the portions are huge and the food is yummy. The service is old school and top notch. It’s a tiny little place around the corner from the music store where they still peddle ancient things like CDs. The cafe doesn’t offer wifi and they don’t take plastic. It’s cash only. There are only eight booths. It also happens to be the kitchen side of a local bar. Going there is like traveling back in time.
Except for one thing. The iDevices. This evil spawn has infected even our little cafe. Dammit.
Recently we saw an elderly couple come in and sit on the same side of a booth and wait. Soon they were joined by their daughter and granddaughter, both of whom had their noses buried in their iDevices. I’m not even sure they said hi. Finally all together it was time to order.
What happened next was the damnedest thing.
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Bird Ingestion Nth Guano Objectives #poop
In our excrement we are pleased to bring you this latest piece of coverage in our ongoing series All Things Poop. No one covers poop like us.
Sure, BINGO is glitzy, glamorous and loads of fun, but it has never been made accessible to the hip under-80 crowd. Until now.
Once upon a time some touchy-feely bleeding-heart bastards had kittens about cock fighting and criminalized that great and wonderful sport. Suddenly the human race was left to wither on the barren wastes in search of another intrepid activity worthy of our abscessions.
If you’ve been pining for the next great bird-oriented sport, well, wait no longer! Your prayers have been answered! No more living on a wing and a prayer.
Is the sky falling? Nope. It’s just Chicken Little. And he’s here for a very good reason.
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Office Panhandling
A typical business school graduate.
The place where I work is a paradox. As an internet-based business (we retail shit) the boss hates it when people walk into our little 20′ x 20′ den o’ fun. We are decidedly not a store. But the manufacturers of the products we sell don’t like to give their shit to minuscule internet-only outfits, like some pimply-faced nerd working out of his garage. To that end, the boss did a crappy photoshop of his business name on a fake picture of a retail location that he purloined, sent it to our suppliers and strives hard to convince them that we are ye olde brick and mortar.
I think what he really means is that we should be bricked and mortared. Right out of existence. Yeah, that’s it. And I couldn’t agree more.
Most retailers adhere to an ABC philosophy. “Always Be Closing.” It’s old school salesman shtick where your only purpose in life is to divorce a fish from his wallet in the shortest possible period of time.. My boss, though, likes to be different. He’s more about the ABL philosophy. “Always Be Lying.” It makes the game easier when you don’t follow things like rules and morals.
So, in a nutshell, the boss wants the entire world except our suppliers to KEEP OUT of our little nondescript strip mall headquarters. Our office has no signage of any kind. Even the post office and FedEx have a hard time finding us. The glass front door doesn’t contain a trace of our business name or even a sticker or any hint of what might be lurking inside. We’re as nondescript as you can get. We’d be perfect cover for the Area 51 administration office. (That would be a marked step up for me. I can dream, can’t I?)
Somehow, though, the public still finds us. They are more than happy to walk in like they own the place. A lot of them think we’re the business that used to be there 15 years ago. Some of them try to sell us tamales out of their car. A great many of them are salespeople, like the investment broker who stopped by this week. She asked if any of the employees needed help with their investments. Whew!!! What a riotous laugh we had over that one!!! Lady, you obviously have no clue how little we get paid!
I hate people walking into our office as much as the next guy. As is my nature, I tried to come up with creative solutions to this problem. In a veritable fit of creativity I head this idea: Put a sign on the door that reads, “Absolutely No Admittance.” The boss couldn’t poop on this idea fast enough. Remember: He is working hard to maintain the illusion that his place is a “store” even though it’s not. It would be bad news if a sales rep stopped by and caught him in the act.
Other sign ideas I had intended to keep out annoying life forms:
- Extreme Radiation Danger
- Bird Flu Quarantine Area
- 1.21 Gigawatt Microwave In Use
- Justin Bieber Music Zone
- Poisonous Snake Recreation Facility
Because this is a sick, cruel and twisted world, none of my ideas were accepted. Like all true geniuses I am not meant to be recognized in my own time.
And this is how, yesterday, I ended up minding my own business, sitting at my desk, when I was approached by a person off the street.
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Shouts from the Abyss 
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