Wednesday, October 8, 2008
PARENTS PROUD OF CUMMINGS INFANT FECAL MATTER
“We’re so pleased with how Teddy eats.” Parents, Kristi and Tim are amazed at how wonderfully Teddy's digestive system has worked since birth. “He rarely, if ever, has problems. Once in a while, he’ll get a bug or something, but it's no big deal.” The husband and wife pair find great joy in changing Teddy's messy diapers. “Smells like the shit of an angel!”
DAD MASKS PAIN WITH BENEFITS OF LOW CARB DIET
With turgid predictability, family dad, Tim, once rolls a piece of zero-carb Swiss into a zero-carb slice of ham and recites the benefits of not eating the delicious, sweet foods he so desperately desires. He chews the wretched muddle of meat and cheese and capriciously imagines the fat-burning ketosis at work within his aging body, converting, he assumes, cellulose to energy. “I lost 30 pounds last time,” he utters with despondent false cheer. “Look, I can eat all of this I want and still lose weight!” The gloom is palpable as he stares briefly into space, silently and disturbingly losing touch with reality. “I don’t even miss cheesecake,” he lies, as he throws away the bun from a Burger King Triple Cheeseburger. “Best of all,” he continues with melancholy dread, “I never get gas! Gotta enjoy that.” In fact, Tim did lose more than 30 pound on the low-carb diet last summer. Then, around Thanksgiving, he drowned himself in a self-loathing binge of masochistic gluttony, eating portions larger than a family of five would dare endure at a single sitting. He quickly gained all of the weight back by New Years, after which, he grudgingly deigned to rejoin his diet. He perseveres still today, a wretched 15 pounds lighter … eating all the bacon and eggs he can stuff into his dissolute maw. As we ask about the joy he’s missing by avoiding all pasta, breads, and desserts, he forces himself a nervous smile and says, “Ha! I’m not missing anything!” He then leans over the kitchen counter, silently sobbing while he opens a new bag of shredded mozzarella.
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Kitten parts – 2 lbs for $1. Bring your own sack.
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1 metal-framed manual retractable handheld canvas precipitation diverter – manufactured by hard-working Oriental children for our use in the out-of-doors. Built in 2007. Like new. $65.00
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Sealed solid brass ancient puzzle cube. Ornately inlaid with gold Aramaic Genie writing. Opens into 7-dimensional hell of eternal torture and undying mutilation.
Point-Counterpoint (Buick vs. Dumpster)
1996 BUICK REGAL
For me, life is a wondrous sport of moving and stopping. I live to feel the wind blow over my hood and windshield as I transport my human cargo from Point A to Point B. I thank the Lords each day for my human companions. My elderly former owner taught me that. Now I have a new, inexperienced teenage owner driving me! Something strange has happened, recently. I can’t help but wonder how my left driver’s side door got damaged. Perhaps my teen driver has already taken notice and will take care of me. Oh, shucks! Of course he will! I wonder, though, why he has not driven me much lately. Oh well, I’m sure he’s busy with Bible study or reading to the elderly ... or something just as nourishing for his splendid attentive soul. I try to inspire others to glorious pursuits. Why, last month I met an exciting green dumpster at my teen driver's high school. We had a wonderful conversation. I could tell he was down in the dumps, so I did my best to cheer him up. I tried to convert it to Christianity. Oh my! Did I just make a joke? “Dumps!” Goodness be! Ha ha ha! Times are so blessed, aren’t they?
HIGH SCHOOL DUMPSTER
Life is not a joy, nor does it have a beginning or an end. My existence is measured in units of filth and there’s no amount of soap, water, or proselytizing that can clean the putrid horror that has soaked deep into my soulless pit of dumpsterdom. I remember meeting that unbearably cheerful Buick Regal last year. The dreadful terrified look on the face of the pitiful teenager in the driver’s seat almost made me smile as he slowly, with excruciating shock, gouged the vehicle’s shiny gleaming driver’s side door against my stinking, rusty metal fuselage. The screeching, tearing sound of the shiny red metal against my disgusting green frame was delicious! Oh, so many teenagers have delivered me their detritus over the years without so much as a corresponding glance, or god forbid, a signal of gratitude! I would like to go into more detail regarding some of the items they have hidden into my dark, gaping maw, but ... even I can be disgusted. My, my, my … what would their parents think? The day I was able to leave my mark on that insanely gleeful religious nut of a Buick was the day I felt inspired to laugh. Too bad I cannot.
For me, life is a wondrous sport of moving and stopping. I live to feel the wind blow over my hood and windshield as I transport my human cargo from Point A to Point B. I thank the Lords each day for my human companions. My elderly former owner taught me that. Now I have a new, inexperienced teenage owner driving me! Something strange has happened, recently. I can’t help but wonder how my left driver’s side door got damaged. Perhaps my teen driver has already taken notice and will take care of me. Oh, shucks! Of course he will! I wonder, though, why he has not driven me much lately. Oh well, I’m sure he’s busy with Bible study or reading to the elderly ... or something just as nourishing for his splendid attentive soul. I try to inspire others to glorious pursuits. Why, last month I met an exciting green dumpster at my teen driver's high school. We had a wonderful conversation. I could tell he was down in the dumps, so I did my best to cheer him up. I tried to convert it to Christianity. Oh my! Did I just make a joke? “Dumps!” Goodness be! Ha ha ha! Times are so blessed, aren’t they?
HIGH SCHOOL DUMPSTER
Life is not a joy, nor does it have a beginning or an end. My existence is measured in units of filth and there’s no amount of soap, water, or proselytizing that can clean the putrid horror that has soaked deep into my soulless pit of dumpsterdom. I remember meeting that unbearably cheerful Buick Regal last year. The dreadful terrified look on the face of the pitiful teenager in the driver’s seat almost made me smile as he slowly, with excruciating shock, gouged the vehicle’s shiny gleaming driver’s side door against my stinking, rusty metal fuselage. The screeching, tearing sound of the shiny red metal against my disgusting green frame was delicious! Oh, so many teenagers have delivered me their detritus over the years without so much as a corresponding glance, or god forbid, a signal of gratitude! I would like to go into more detail regarding some of the items they have hidden into my dark, gaping maw, but ... even I can be disgusted. My, my, my … what would their parents think? The day I was able to leave my mark on that insanely gleeful religious nut of a Buick was the day I felt inspired to laugh. Too bad I cannot.
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