Embassy row
the fumes they lay low
On lanes that are wide
where the limousines glide
On the wrought-iron gates
and the bone china plates
And don’t forget your manners
where the anthems play
Friday, September 26, 2003 So the New Topography's suggestions were good...but not great. Nude bowling, taping the carpet...these ideas are certainly both creative and time consuming, but they don't really provide the sense of satisfaction I'm going to require from my new hobby.
Then it hit me...what if the fire marshall finally shows up to my apartment, and says there's nothing wrong with the firewood in my garage? It's like a free pass to start taunting the ever loving shit out of my neighbor! I'm gonna buy so much fucking firewood it's gonna make me puke! I'll have firewood in my car, on my deck, piled up in my windows, it'll be great! I'll start building little bird feeders out of firewood and hang them outside my apartment. Like thirty of them.
In fact, maybe I'll start a firewood delivery service right out of my own fucking garage! I'll make sure every garage in our complex has a full two year supply of firewood. The extra dry kind too, the kind that burns up like a goddamn Christmas tree! I'm going to eat, sleep and drink firewood. Well, not literally.
Yep, I think I'm gonna have plenty to do with my spare time this autumn season.
Thursday, September 25, 2003 Unfortunately, I didn't get to meet the fire marshall last night. Turns out he was too busy attending to an actual fire in my town. Probably started when someone put too much firewood in their garage. That's a fire hazard dipshit!
And I won't be seeing him tonight either because I'll be busy rocking with Built to Spill. Fuck yeah!
Wednesday, September 24, 2003 But seriously, I've got things to talk about, so let's get it on.
Last night I had a cord of firewood delivered to my apartment. That's right, I have a fireplace, want to fight about it? For those of you unfamiliar with the measurement system for firewood, a cord of wood is just enough to fit snuggly in our one car garage next to a years worth of empty beer bottles, leaving about enough space for six chicken McNuggets.
Now firewood doesn't stack itself, no matter how long you stand there and stare at it, so at around 5pm I began carrying the firewood from the wet pile in the driveway into my garage. This is not an easy job, especially with random old people coming by and cracking jokes like 'Expecting a long winter eh?'. At around 7pm, after a couple of much needed breaks to allow my lower back to regain it's original shape, another bitter old man came by with another bitter old comment.
'Looks like a fire hazard to me.', he says.
'Oh yeah, how's that?', I replied.
'Well what if there was a spark and all that wood went up in flames?', the old kook responds.
'Well wouldn't that be an issue no matter what I have in my garage? Like boxes perhaps? Don't you have boxes in your garage?'
After a long pause, as Oldy McOld composes himself for his forethcoming lie, 'No, I don't. I'm going to call the Fire Marshall and have him check this out.'
'Good, you do that.', I answer, while walking away so I don't give in to the temptation to stick his cane into his fucking forehead.
Tuesday, September 02, 2003 In an effort to 'cool' up the site, as requested by a fellow blogger in last week's comment section, here's a link to the local Fox affiliate's Simpson's Viewer Choice website. Do you get the irony/sarcasm/onomatopoeia? Here's my top ten, in no particular order:
