hey, stuff

hey, stuff

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I love that my mostly-rural Wisconsin county has an afternoon daily. It was founded in the 1880s and is printed 4 blocks up the street. So it's with affection, rather than malice, that I say I'm not sure this writer gets how fast-forwarding works.

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“New York’s Hottest Vegan” (ugh) does not come across well, by any standard of reasonable human behavior, in this all-timer of high tragicomedy. That said, this one specific detail unfairly paints her a stone psychopath when it couldn’t be more clear that she was just a merry prankster and Jack Handy acolyte.

P.S. If the Coen brothers haven’t already optioned this story for a profundly-iinept-criminal farce in the noble tradition of Fargo and Raising Arizona: c’mon guys. Do I have to spoon-feed it to you?

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Or stay on your couch and choke on a Bugle.

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When your cow phobia trends panicward, breathe deeply and remind yourself that they are ambulant meat basically.

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PHYSICANS' OFFICE RECEPTIONIST [Approaches CODGER sitting in waiting area]: Sir, what is your date of birth?

CODGER: 1926.

RECEPTIONIST: Thank you. [Returns to desk bank.]

HAPPY 20SOMETHING WAITING WITH US [loudly]: Nineteen FIFTY six?

CODGER: Nineteen TWENTY six.

HAPPY 20SOMETHING: That’s when my grandpa was born!

CODGER: Where?

HAPPY 20SOMETHING: Edgerton. Where were you born?

CODGER: My grandmother’s attic in Milwaukee!

HAPPY 20SOMETHING: …

CODGER: …

ME: You’re in fine fettle for an attic baby!

CODGER: …

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My shitty over-the-air antenna is digitally Francis Bacon'ing right about now. Well done, shitty antenna. You are doing a noble service for your country.

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