I remind you again that the international House of waffles sells waffles the pancakes of all nations who persistent calling them waffles because the word loses all meaning when you identify with it so completely. IHOW.
I was not expecting to find a sink pit in the middle of this parking lot. Especially not here at the Kohl’s Emporium, the most regal of the hard-core plumbing outlets. Bar none. Sink pits being a pitfall 2 commerce. One would think.
And the Emporium is just a branching arterial of a larger empire headquartered in Saigon. Franchisees available. Which is the go-2 capital now that things have gone down. Here to 4 and 4th with. But I have not crunched the numbers. Everywhere. Nor do I know where all bodies are buried. Here. So please hold your applause. Sit on your hands. Because the sink pit was here first. Officer. Society was built upon it. Later. If it may please the court. And I assure you nothing would be more to my pleasure.
Now. It is only natural to slowly slide back into old habits. Pandering. Dear g-d. Habits we have none, I am afraid, was a novelty hit by a singing nun who played the guitar in the 1970s. It was a different time. Difficult. More spiritual. And a little kinky, if truth be told. But it’s all natural. Those pits.
Used to be you could go to a barber shop and get a real close shave. Wash that man right out of your hair which smells beautiful kinky, let me get this straight, and close your barn door, storm coming, And now we are sliding slowly into the mud and the detritus between the car wash and the QFC, The lingua franca of commerce and culture. And it sucks. Vultures. But I tell you we can still pull out pops.
We’re not just spinning our wheels here. Until we are. Car after car after car after car. Exhausting. Fruitless. And then it’s too late to pull out. Then we are sunk. A fallacy. And I don’t know how we’ll ever pay that cost. Sunken. And if it sounds like the pits, like we’re doing donuts in the hole again, there is a grocery next-door and it is possible to put a cherry on top.
Impossibly red. If accessible to the Everyman. Which is sexist because you can’t just please any man.
And while you’re at it throw in the kitchen sink why don’t you. And you will need a towel. We’re all going to clean up in this market place. That’s dirty. And they’re putting in a donut hole. They are putting in a donut hole right there and they say it’s going to bring jobs. They say the jobs are going to go right down there into that sinkhole and it’s going to produce dollars to donuts. With a cherry on top. 4 pops. Market drops. Pop shot.
Wiener King and Wiener King International Holdings are ™ of Dr. Richard Lindsay. As is the depiction of the first space f*ck. And naked lunch-break.
Paul and Agnes and the OG Cosplayers are by the honorable Sir Scheck.
I’m gonna tell you exactly what’s wrong with your golf swing and it’s all about drive and line. And sinker. Let’s construct a vision board.
There are no dummies here began the speech by the ventriloquist assistant which was to be given at a convention of like-minded individuals from his profession. What they called them cannot be printed in the official ventriloquist assistant monthly. He wadded the paper up. There was this voice. A voice in his head. Telling him to… Prodding him in the back to tell the speech. Give the dummies what for. Not head. And why are you being so hard on me, Mister? I said to the Prater. And he asked me who the woman was he saw me with the other night. And I said that was my psychiatrist. And you drove me to her. So I don’t understand the question. Which I guess is comedic to you. In this case. There are a lot of folktales about demonic ventriloquist assistants. And while we don’t take kindly to such stereotypes, coming straight out of the woodshed, as they do, just like in the story, which is a problem, you must ask yourself what drives a ventriloquist assistant to go mad. And it is our treatment at the hands of the bourgeois ventriloquist. Who who is, they say, adept at throwing his voice. Which is a very dishonest profession. And really down plays the role of the assistant. Who is often the head of the outfit I must therefore plot revenge. Yes, that would be the speech. The puppets are revolting. Tonight.
Miss Muffet grew up to market and sell successfully a line of tuffets which were supposed to be spider repellent. They didn’t work but she became a very wealthy woman. You can look her up on the web.
Now that I have your attention, I would like to remind you of the old addage that 10 whistles are made of 10. And that adds up. If they’re Roman whistles they are X-rated. And that adds up. And 789. And that adds up. And so does an abacus. Summation.
Everyone should have an evil twin. Or an evil triplet or two evil triplets, that’s one to spare. If you think an evil triplet would spare one.
The two party system is still arguing about the public square. Seems there are two sides to it.
Shoplifting. Any takers?￼
People want kids in school as long as they don’t teach them anything.
You can have your college course on nihilism as long as you don’t teach them kids nothing.
I need a magicians assistant because the last one disappeared.
I am writing a movie about a man and a woman who try to make it in a revitalized vaudeville as a ventriloquist and ventriloquists assistant. Hope I’m not just up my own ass here.
Hello 911? The magicians assistant just swallowed a sword. He is asking if anyone is a doctor in the house. Oh never mind he’s telling a joke. I don’t think the timing is appropriate necessarily.
I mean the crowd is full of lawyers. Here to observe.
The ventriloquists assistant won’t cross the picket line of the magicians assistants. And that’s how the ventriloquists assistants were made to disappear by the magicians, bypassing the magicians assistant, who was nowhere to be seen. Had been informally replaced. A grievance was filed.
And now the ventriloquist has a lovely assistant.
I had a ventriloquist dummy but it was a mute. I try not to judge but it was dressed as a prisoner. It used to pass me notes through the bar. That is how I cheated on my legal certification. I’m certain. The things that dummy’s note said couldn’t be repeated. Certainly not by him.
Most ventriloquist dummies are not good listeners.
I was lucky in this regard, and was able to drink a glass of water in peace.
The day you could no longer buy leaded gasoline was the saddest day for every waiter in America who was dependent upon the “leaded” or “unleaded” joke whenever approaching a table to offer caffeinated or decaf coffee.
Now the coffee service was a hollow gesture. A mechanistic gruel.
But Broadway beckoned. And
“Leaded or unleaded the musical”
opened to pour box office. Which, trivially, was a joke in the first act.
During the intermission, the songwriter,
he used to be a waiter,
but that was back in the days when a man could get a cup of Joe,
without a lot of song and dance,
and brother that was a long time ago, he was jittery. Caffeinated. Like.
His name was Joe. Joe the waiter. Now Joe the songbird. And the play was full of double entendres and tongue twisters and, to tell you the truth, it was a little risqué. Which is French for right dirty, sister. So it did boffo box office.
“Insert two bits for a cup of Joe” was the third song in the first act.
The bits in question were old vaudeville sets, Marked up.
It hasn’t aged well.
For one thing young people today don’t understand they used to put lead in gasoline. To knock out the knocks, if one can believe.