Fido

Since moving to florida I feel like many 80’s sitcoms before me I am developing an all to predictable catch phrase. I typically go to 1 of 2, the first being “what in the world?” or simply a loaded “why…” In this situation the latter. I guess I can understand the business model, some people are far to attach to the family pet dump it in an unmarked shallow grave on the closest piece of municipal property and would prefer to keep the ashes of the beast on the mantle. However, that’s all beside the point. The real issue I have with this infraction of general intelligence is the advertising scheme. This is the sort of thing that should be kept to the receptionist’s desk at a vet’s office, or relegated to the internet where the needy parties can find you. Not to mention the seemingly intentional absence of just what “best friends” are being roasted until the marrow boils out of their bones. Sure context clues let you know what’s going on pretty fast but this genius of industry subscribes to the reach out and grab’em school of advertising. You can’t really make it out in the pic but that little pink paw says “cremation” and I am sure you noticed the vanity plate. If I had to guess I would put money on these animals taking your recently deceased pet, skinning and eating it, and giving you the ashes from the two old lawn mower tires and newspaper they used to make filet’s of your dead pet beck in a Faded Glory shoe box with water stains.

nice.

In a small town there is an office. This office has typical office things. Chairs that appear to be very expensive, art work that appears to be original but are almost assuredly reproductions, the token plaques featuring varies youth soccer teams sponsored by the company, and this. A shadow box with a large string of firecrackers. At most places they try to find a piece to place in the reception area that sets them apart, but few hit the mark. This however, may be the holy grail of office decor. They effectively found a way to keep explosives in the middle of their place of business and receive exactly no complaints. They found a excellent loop hole. If you put it in a shadow box, you can keep just about anything anywhere. White Phosphorus grenade in the break room? No prob, just run out and pic up a baseball display case. Pair of Colt .45's will pearl inlay grips cocked and locked? Completely ok so long as they are framed and hanging above a small table covered in pamphlets describing the companies vision and five year plan.

Winston was the only good one.

This is just stupid, and it makes me want to punch the Queen. We threw you off this continent for a reason England. You engage is frumped up self satisfying idiocy like this. You lost the original thirteen because you couldn’t move beyond outdated concepts (lining up while Americans riddled you with bullets from cover because it was how wars were fought) so why more than 2 centuries later are you still messing with Royals? Sweet idea. Be financially and culturally burdened by idiots who are largely ignored day to day and are only noticed when they do something as stupid as wearing a Nazi uniform to a Halloween party. Fix your teeth.

So Buttery.

Let me start by saying I love any product that is a borderline FCC violation if spoken out of context on network television. That being said this may be the single most intriguing product I have ever run across in Walmart. I made a point of not looking up any facts or ingredients that weren’t listed on the front of the box because it is way more fun to speculate. What can be seen lets you know some of the highlights, that it has essential “milk” proteins, and is made with “organic” ingredients. Personally I willfully believe that it is made from gallons of breast milk churned in an old fashioned butter churner. Which I ordered from Amazon (I love the internet age) last night, as I began slowly stealing ounce by ounce from my child’s bottles in order to churn out some of my own. I am not sure what I am going to do with it, certainly not spread it on toast.

Barefoot Redneck

Florida. As far as I’m concerned it’s just another way to spell class. Where else in this beautiful hodgepodge of states can you find a gas station where the floor is so clean that you can walk on it barefoot with no fear? Given the tan lines I assume the barefoot revolution is a recent addition to his personal paradigm, but the jean shorts and sleeveless T (not pictured) seem to be long staples. He also appears to comb his shoulder hair, or his “deltoid mane” as it is colloquially known.

Mom and Dad Shine.

Well mom and dad, you finally made it. Your star is going to shine and shine bright, and apparently the smell can also be sensed for miles. I bet 5 years ago you would’ve never thought your names would be out there for anyone on Netflix to see. I hear Hoarders is a big ratings getter as well, so you can be assured that millions of eyes will be drawn to the spectacle. You know, I considered taking the time to write a tiny description of what people could except to view, but goodness if the description isn’t modern poetry.

Been A While.

Well… This sure is something. Two words that when separated are a simple noun and adjective, but when combined, are so, so much more powerful. Indeed this induced a double back, because as I drove by the first time I knew it couldn’t be. However, when I assumed my parking spot the words hadn’t changed, my dyslexia hadn’t thwarted me again, it was just as I thought. Nasty Canasta. It sort of rolls off the tongue, no? Granted it rolls in the same manner I’d imagine a mouth full of algae might, slow, slimy, and leaving a greasy film that stayed on your tongue for days, but it does roll. The way I read it, it has two possible interpretations. 1. The owner of the van is one heck of a Canasta player, so good in fact as to be deemed nasty. Or 2. the much more frightening option, that their exists a Senior Age Underground Strip Canasta League, or SAUSCL. Hence Nasty… Their exist a third, and far more sinister option. Perhaps they are using “canasta” in original form which literally translates to “basket.” I however, have little desire to spend time pondering the possible ramifications of dubbing ones over sized van the “Nasty Basket.”