by Tomorrow's Man
If You'd Invented This Yesterday You'd Be Rich By Now, Pt. 1
The Handy Home Continuum Cleaner
Steps:
1. Breathe steadily for 10 seconds into the Handy Home Continuum Cleaner's plastic tube.
2. Set the Handy Home Continuum Cleaner in the center of a room, much as you would with a bug bomb.
3. Press the green button and leave the room, sealing it tightly for 60 minutes.
When you return to the room, you will find anything you do not plan to use, wear, touch, or remember for at least 18 months coated in a sickly green dust. If the item has also been ignored for at least 6 months, the layer will be a pukey orangish color that will not come out of most fabrics, woods, plastics, or metals.
In this way, the Handy Home Continuum Cleaner enables even the worst offender of 'pack rat syndrome' to clean out their office, garage, or overstuffed closet with a minimum of mental waffling!
Trust the Handy Home Continuum Cleaner - you'l never need that crap again!
I can still clearly feel walnuts.
Therapy
Therapy
Therapy
Nope. Not good. They're here. In the walls.
OF COURSE THEY'RE IN THE DAMNED WALLS!
I'd Like for One Hour to Be...
a cat's ear on the 4th of July
a dim lamprey attatched to a slow torpedo
the indigo in a rainbow over Baghdad
the goo struck by lightning that begins life
the cow that leads the beef uprising
a speck of the dust of Ghandi
the data on the outer rim of a Beethoven's 9th CD
the echo of the last words of Icarus, as he fell
the echo of the last words of Lucifer, as he fell
and
the echo of the last words of Evil Kenevil, as he fell.
One part sauce, one part dream, one part tangent, one part misdirection, one part inspired by an oddly titled book (something about wild ducks), one part the time of day, one part the lateness of the year, one part angle, velocity, and timing (okay, that's three smaller parts gestalting together), one part a jar of contained black ichor, and one part something almost as fun as a deep fried pickle but maybe not as quite, and you've got tonight.
Nothing spanks off the hollowdrag quite like getting the cheekeye rub while making happy plasma dewgobs.
nothing.
Letter to NBC.com
Hi there,
Just letting you know that I'll never be coming to your site again. I had some nice classical music on to ease my sick child, then went to your site to see what the programming was going to be and
BOOMBOOMCRAAASSHBOOOOOOMM
Your oh-so-attention getting ad for The Poseidon Adventure woke up the kid, who is now screaming like hungry bats are gnawing out his eyes.
You may want to reconsider forcing people to listen to LOUD AUDIO immediately upon visiting your site, where, I'm guessing, the majority of your visitors are simply seeking information and not a chance to put their tachycardic grandmothers in the grave. Or maybe they are; I really can't speak for such odd people with such devious plans for their extended family.
Nevertheless, I was just looking for Law and Order information, not a reason to actually call Eliot Stabler, though perhaps I could, since, trust me, waking this kid up like that has got to be a crime, at least in some southern states; what if the kid really thinks that hungry bats are in his crib? You're right, 13 is probably too old for him to still be in a crib, but that's the kind of thing that happens when you raise your sister's kids on TV. No offense.
Needless to say I won't be back to the site...and now I won't even be able to watch the telly tonight, since you decided to advertise LOUDLY to my sister's child that a hackey remake of "The Poseidon Adventure" was going to attempt to pass for viable entertainment in the near future.
Hey, just a quick question: There have been, oh, about a skillion disaster movies made in the last 5 years or so; tell me frankly, as a devout member of the public that really enjoys disaster movies but has found himself really, really numbed by it all at this point (which can be found at TPTREDMBHFHRRNBIAATP.com), does the network really think anyone gives a holey (not holy) sock about a boat flipping over? At least in the original we got to imagine Shelly Winters in the role of "chum."
But I digress.
Perhaps in the future you would consider making the sound an option that can be turned on? Or even better, not making really, really horrible remakes of already horrible 70's disaster movies? Just a couple thoughts.
Thanks,
Tomorrow's Man
I found a bag with 21 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"I found a bag with 21 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said."
I found a bag with 156 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"I walked backwards to follow the ducks, walked backwards all the way home, a thousand miles or so, walking well past the point where my shoes were confused as to where they were supposed to wear down, walked into the ocean, down under the waves, backwards through the riptide, held my breath along the Atlantic current while the sun spun by overhead, backwards through darkness and muck at the very deepest deep, the backwards as the blue rose again, backwards southeast through large playful waves, backwards until I climbed the continental shelf and could smell the burnt honey of smelting rum again, backwards until my bald pate crested and I could feel a need for at least SPF 30, backwards and up the beach adn finally, exhausted, sat my lean self down in a small white chair by a bar seaside in Bermuda, where a Dark 'n Stormy was at my wrist before I'd uttered 'Hello.'"
I found a bag with 29 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"I let a random event choose the random number of words spilled from the bag each day for the last week or so. In this way, I found insight."
I found a bag with 2 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"Read Tomorrow."
I found a bag with 13 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"A cougar tastes better than a llama, when the llama is overly braised."
I found a bag with 143 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"An entire rainbow came and sat by me in the cafe today. It was problematic, what with it reflecting in ways that made reading my graphic novel impossible. I asked it if it would be rude to ask it to turn its red side to the wall, and it said, yes, indeed it would, so I let it drop. Through all this, its orange and its blue fought over whether it wanted chai tea cold or chai tea hot. No one seemed to care what green thought. One man, he sat and read away, read away, like no rainbow was foistering up the cafe. It was then I looked closer and saw the hearing aid, looked closer and saw the glasses, looked closer and saw the book he was reading, 'How to Cope with Color Blindness.' I thought, 'Wow, what are the odds?'"
I found a bag with 19 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"If you have nothing to say, say aloud the word, 'Silence.' Only the shadow of the irony is understood."
I found a bag with 34 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"The ego climbed the mountain, then tumbled to the sea. Wrapped in scraped skin and bruised, it crawled to a calm pool in a shallow where it sighed, "I'm so glad to be me."
I found a bag with 12 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"Green's a pasture when warm so don't worry over winter, it's coming."
I found a bag with 53 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"She's got eyes and a spine, and they both shimmer when she cries. Did you make her cry? She'll die. You can't save her, because she will never let you. You can't save you, because you can't save her. From 'Hello' one, you were done for. So, move on, though, still, you'll die."
I found a bag with 26 words. I threw it to the ground and they spilled. This is what they said:
"Once a sea gull always a sea gull, but twice or more you peck at Kentucky Fried and you're a cannabird if you've gone and digested."
Road Notes: Syracuse, NY
Speak, 8 hours.
Stand, 8 hours.
Throat's gone all dog's blood rising.
Here's this flatline thought, in silence.
Wake. Wait. 5:30A.M.
Drive, 30 miles.
Wait.
Fly, 120 miles.
Wait.
Fly, 1900 miles.
- time zone minus two hours -
Train ride, 70 miles. Two hours.
Wait.
Train ride, 70 miles. Two hours.
Wait.
Fly, 1900 miles, fly, 120 miles, drive, 30 miles.
Wait, 20 hours.
Drive, 30 miles.
Wait.
Fly, 500 miles.
Fly, 500 miles.
- time zone plus three hours -
All since Friday.
If you can wake up in another time, in another place, can you wake up as another person?
Road Notes: Syracuse, NY, 11:59PM
Non
Stop
Go
Thompson Twins? No.
It was an album, maybe 45 minutes long.
Who was that.
Ah, Robert Plant. His 1988 tour. I was there for that. He had Joan Jett and the Blackhearts open for him; if ever I'd had a doubt how much a cruch on Joan Jett I'd had was in question, it was vamoosed when I watched that tight, sparky flooze hit the stage and chew her guitar. 'Course, my lust stopped at her style, as I'm pretty sure I would need therapy if I ever fantasized about anyone with the same name as my mother.
Where was I?
Ah. Syracuse. Lovely. At least they have Dunkin' Donuts, too.
Non
Stop
Go.
I get it.