I've seen them, they're real, and they poop.
Well, Dave's idea to dress Sarah up as an opera singer got her carried away by a giant purple octopus, so now I'm sort of confused as to what to do.
Jep.
Today one of the electrical workers tried to convert another to his church, I think. it was sort of muffled.
Our house is a mess in spots--is it SOP for workers in your house to just leave sawdust, plaster, packaging, wadded paper bags, etc., all over the place? I wonder if they're used to working in houses inhabited by their clients, and not by tenants...because I probably wouldn't mind if it were my choice for them to be here. But come on--couldn't they leave power on to the oven, if not to the washer/dryer?
Muzzerfuckers.
I'm in foul spirits--FOUL. (I'm possessed by a chicken, ah ha ha, Amish, shoot me.)
The other day I milled around my room in the dark, looking for something, who knows what, minutes on end, and finally I jogged up the stairs to hit the lightswitch and when I returned there was the inevitable spider dangling at neck-level in the room. the motherfucker descended feet at a time till he hit the floor and I dispatched him with (Sarah, don't read this) Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle (Plath's Bell Jar, the old spider slayer, being unavailable). Immediately after, while vigorous music played and I raised and re-raised my left arm, another spider dared to streak along the edge of the coffee table. So, two for Vonnegut. Then I caught sight of the rubber tarantula on the floor, one of many I was mailed, and about shat myself.
All that to say this: the rubber spider is covered in ever more dust and sawdust as the electrical workers bore through the rafters of my room, and so he has gone from electric blue to dark blue to black to black mottled with brown to gray mottled with brown--or, in other words, from obviously fake to pants-soilingly realistic.
At least from here on the couch.
Kenny, I have not viewed your podcast, but I will say this: the opening image for episode 4 is balls weird.
If you're curious about this post's title, ask Andy to explain.
Jep.
Today one of the electrical workers tried to convert another to his church, I think. it was sort of muffled.
Our house is a mess in spots--is it SOP for workers in your house to just leave sawdust, plaster, packaging, wadded paper bags, etc., all over the place? I wonder if they're used to working in houses inhabited by their clients, and not by tenants...because I probably wouldn't mind if it were my choice for them to be here. But come on--couldn't they leave power on to the oven, if not to the washer/dryer?
Muzzerfuckers.
I'm in foul spirits--FOUL. (I'm possessed by a chicken, ah ha ha, Amish, shoot me.)
The other day I milled around my room in the dark, looking for something, who knows what, minutes on end, and finally I jogged up the stairs to hit the lightswitch and when I returned there was the inevitable spider dangling at neck-level in the room. the motherfucker descended feet at a time till he hit the floor and I dispatched him with (Sarah, don't read this) Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle (Plath's Bell Jar, the old spider slayer, being unavailable). Immediately after, while vigorous music played and I raised and re-raised my left arm, another spider dared to streak along the edge of the coffee table. So, two for Vonnegut. Then I caught sight of the rubber tarantula on the floor, one of many I was mailed, and about shat myself.
All that to say this: the rubber spider is covered in ever more dust and sawdust as the electrical workers bore through the rafters of my room, and so he has gone from electric blue to dark blue to black to black mottled with brown to gray mottled with brown--or, in other words, from obviously fake to pants-soilingly realistic.
At least from here on the couch.
Kenny, I have not viewed your podcast, but I will say this: the opening image for episode 4 is balls weird.
If you're curious about this post's title, ask Andy to explain.
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