Wear fedora, sunglasses, and trenchcoat
So much action on the blog today—what with Bil's lifeday, Martin's appearance, Dave's vomiting up of old pictures, and the Second Coming of Karl, that I'd feel guilty leaving my usual soulless stream of textbile.
I tried to find a good Google image matching the phrase "ruined birthday," but all I got was a happy cartoon character.
Which ain't gonna cut the cobbler.
. . .
Sarah and I discovered a megalicious Chinese buffet somewhere on Ingersoll, approaching downtown from the west. Like all buffets, it had the ambiance of a battlefield full of 4 year-olds—screaming children, spilled soda, handprints of tapioca smeared across the glass booth dividers. But also there was pineapple chicken, the Vengeful General Tsao, black pepper squid, and sushi that I was too afraid to try, buffet sushi surely being scarier than its more exclusive, less whorish cousin. Overall, everything was delicious. There were even little pumpkin dumplings, which looked like real pumpkins! Sexy.
. . .
All you people should come visit us sometime. Never mind that you've had your own house for years! Never mind it!
Someday I'll figure out how to list our address on here without risking attack and torture from weird internet hobos.
If anyone ever wants our address, email me at pharaoh at gmail.
. . .
This is Day 28 of my Hobo Countdown (Day Zero being the day I walk out of here for the last time, at 4:30). The only ideas I've come up with for my newfound freedom:
1) Wear fedora, sunglasses, and trenchcoat. Drive to Ames. Shadow Cricket all day, or until he suffers paranoid collapse. Cover his body in roast beef.
2) Construct giant plastic red hamsterball. Roll self across Des Moines, from east to west. Probably end up in Martin's, Bil's, and Morgan's yard.
3) Sleep. Forevermore. Or at least through the weekend.
I tried to find a good Google image matching the phrase "ruined birthday," but all I got was a happy cartoon character.
Which ain't gonna cut the cobbler.
. . .
Sarah and I discovered a megalicious Chinese buffet somewhere on Ingersoll, approaching downtown from the west. Like all buffets, it had the ambiance of a battlefield full of 4 year-olds—screaming children, spilled soda, handprints of tapioca smeared across the glass booth dividers. But also there was pineapple chicken, the Vengeful General Tsao, black pepper squid, and sushi that I was too afraid to try, buffet sushi surely being scarier than its more exclusive, less whorish cousin. Overall, everything was delicious. There were even little pumpkin dumplings, which looked like real pumpkins! Sexy.
. . .
All you people should come visit us sometime. Never mind that you've had your own house for years! Never mind it!
Someday I'll figure out how to list our address on here without risking attack and torture from weird internet hobos.
If anyone ever wants our address, email me at pharaoh at gmail.
. . .
This is Day 28 of my Hobo Countdown (Day Zero being the day I walk out of here for the last time, at 4:30). The only ideas I've come up with for my newfound freedom:
1) Wear fedora, sunglasses, and trenchcoat. Drive to Ames. Shadow Cricket all day, or until he suffers paranoid collapse. Cover his body in roast beef.
2) Construct giant plastic red hamsterball. Roll self across Des Moines, from east to west. Probably end up in Martin's, Bil's, and Morgan's yard.
3) Sleep. Forevermore. Or at least through the weekend.
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