My Two Tuppence
This and a bucket of spit will buy you a pile of dead hair.
If you invest your suckance
Slyly with a skank
Like a ship run aground
More rewarding than invested in a bank
It will fail to astound
A wallet violently oppressed
And you’ll feel it each time they molest
As your effluence stickily expands
Deftly in the hands
Of the directors
Who invest your liquidity per their horny little glans
So yeah, there was that time I put thousands of dollars in a savings account with that “American” multinational bank. You know the one. Their logo is a red, white and blue flag credit card. Because nothing is more quintessentially American than, “I want it now. I’ll pay for it with credit.” Hey, let’s make our logo a credit card. That’ll show ’em what we’re really about.
And we fall for it.
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Proud sponsor of the American Scream
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: What of Mediocre Fred?
For newbies, Mediocre Fred is a decent, honest, hard-working guy. He doesn’t cheat on his taxes, obeys the law and is kind to small furry creatures. As such, he’s not exactly rewarded like a paragon of the American way.
Here in America we base our entire system of government on one simple principle: No freeloaders. You have to work for a living. As a nation we abhor the notion of those who work the system to get the promised land of freebies without pulling their own weight. Well, at least on the bottom end of the scale.
Mediocre Fred has worked every week of his life since he was 16. When still in school he worked part-time. After graduating with his high school diploma, he went full-time and has never looked back.
Over the decades Mediocre Fred has always worked. He’s had no pension, 401k plan, health insurance, vacation or paid days off. He just works. And when his fellow workers tried to unionize and the company closed and bulldozed the store and built a new non-union store across the street, Mediocre Fred always seemed to land on his feet. He’d just get a new job and keep his nose to that grindstone.
That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?
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Demonically Repossessed
This is a true story…
It all started when I loaned a friend a hammer. A hammer is a tool typically used for driving metal objects known as nails into various materials like wood. Or so I’ve heard.
For the purpose of this story let’s assume I actually owned a hammer.
If we wanted to (and were sufficiently sick in the head) we could think of this loan as a transaction. The hammer represents the principle, my friend is the debtor and I must be, of course, the bank.
It isn’t too hard to assume my friend is a debtbeat deadbeat and never returned the bloody thing. Amazingly, even though I dunned him many, many times, and threatened to assess late fees of 1.5 percent on a monthly basis.
Finally that worthless so-and-so left me no recourse. After consulting my voluminous and most accurate scribbles documentation, I looked up his address and drove across town. I was literally seeing red. My goal? To retrieve the hammer and write the dude off as my friend.
I kicked in his door, tore the place apart, and, having found my precious hammer, I got the hell out of dodge.
The only problem? I made the totally understandable mistake of going to the wrong house. The hammer I repossessed wasn’t even mine. In my defense, it was of similar design. Oops. My bad.
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Poundhog Day – Just Lucky I Guess
We now read from the Great Book:
“Oh man, I can’t fucking believe this. Another basement, another elevator. How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?”
–John McClane, The Book of Die Hard, Chapter Two
In other words, I took a day off from work.
I like to keep notes of blog ideas. Voluminous notes. A veritable plethora of tiny chicken scratch scribbles that are only discernable by me, and sometimes not even then.
Then I go out in the world and live my life. This is also known as to fodder. Then the same shit happens to the same guy twice. Suddenly all blog ideas are out the window.
So, in the vast majority of cases, this blog is merely a depiction of “What happened yesterday?” That’s about as intellectual as it gets around here.
In that vein, guess what happened yesterday? Smooth segue, eh?
I’ve got the Juice!
When life gives you lemons make yourself invisible and steal some shit…
Today’s t-shirt idea is a tribute to a bank robber from 1995 with panache and a fresh lemony scent.
McArthur Wheeler, age 45, 5’6″ tall and 270 pounds, was a man on a mission when he walked into a Fidelity Savings Bank, brandished a gun and demanded money.
There were two interesting quirks about his robbery attempt.
First, he made absolutely no attempt at disguise or hiding himself from security cameras.
Second, his eyes were burning, he had to squint, and he was having trouble with his vision.
About an hour after the robbery Wheeler was easily located and arrested by police, who had no trouble identifying the suspect from the surveillance tapes.
When interviewed, Wheeler expressed surprise at being caught. “But I wore the juice,” he explained.
Yes, during the robbery, Wheeler had covered his face with lemon juice. He was under the impression that coating his face with lemon juice would protect his image from being recorded by cameras. (Apparently he wasn’t worried about any witnesses identifying him later, either.)
Wheeler was no dummy. Prior to the robbery he had performed “various tests” including taking a self-portrait with a Polaroid camera. When he didn’t see himself in the picture, he reasoned that the juice must have rendered him invisible!
Later it was theorized that he simply must have aimed the camera poorly.
I loved the phrase, “But I wore the juice!” so much I decided to immortalize it in this t-shirt design. I would be proud to wear this t-shirt anywhere since I would also like very much to be invisible. It sure would come in handy. Squinty and painful eyes are a small price to pay for that!
This post is based on a story in the New York Times about a theory that some stupid people are too stupid to know that they are stupid. Or something like that.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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