When I was growing up, I loved the Beef And Cheddars at Arby’s, but after a few bad experiences, I haven’t been back in a very long time.
Everybody I ask says the same thing.
They used to go to Arby’s, but they don’t anymore.
“How do they stay open?” someone asks.
So, we checked the web for a store near to our office and drove there for lunch.
There was nobody in there.
We looked around, shouted HELLO, but nobody answered.
That’s when I noticed the crate with Russian stenciled on it.
And a folder full of invasion plans.
Tag: society
You’ve Got Mail
It’s been 20 years since I‘ve had an AOL account, but wherever I go, I always set up that “You’ve got mail!” to my new mail sound.
Oh, sure… I’ve had fun sounds like “Message for you, sir!” from Monty Python and The Holy Grail, where the page gets hit with an arrow to the chest with a message on it, but it doesn’t take long for me to yearn for that classic AOL sound again.
It doesn’t really matter, though. These days, it’s all IMs and Tweets and Facebook Pokes.
E-mail’s as dead as the Post Office it killed.
The Creation Of Kenny
I challenged art students to paint the ceiling of the college’s fieldhouse.
“Carefully, please!”
They replicated Michelangelo’s fresco in the Sistine Chapel, but substituted famous basketball players for the Biblical figures.
In the center was The Creation Of Adam, where Charles Barkley reached to touch the finger of Kenny Smith.
“Instead of a brain-like cloud, he’s perched on a giant meatloaf,” said the lead artist.
We laughed. Until a drip came down from the ceiling.
“It’s coming out of Kenny’s eye,” I said. “He’s… crying?”
Some of them called it a miracle.
I called it an expensive leak to repair.
Bashed Brains
Pro Football player Junior Seau killed himself today. He’d been having awful problems as a result of all the concussions he’d suffered by playing football for so many years.
Last year, Dave Duerson from the Superbowl-winning Chicago Bears put a bullet in his gut.
It’s a problem many players have been experiencing, and they want to raise awareness of the dangers of concussions, but some just can’t take the pain and the suffering, so they kill themselves.
It’s sad, but then when you bash yourself against other huge guys for twenty to thirty years, what the fuck do you expect?
Vault
The reporter asked the billionaire if he could see his collection of rare musical instruments.
The old man walked over to a map, and waved at all the pins on it.
“A violin in a vault serves no purpose. It is meant to be played.”
The reporter smiled. “So, you’ve given them to musicians around the world?”
“Not really. I’m just messing with you. They’re in the basement.”
“May I see them?”
“If there’s any left. We’re feeding them into the furnace.”
The reporter fainted.
“I hate the press,” said the billionaire, and he picked up a violin and played.
Baptists
My grandmother always said that the problem with Baptists is that they don’t hold them under long enough.
So, I put my scuba gear in the trunk, headed over to First Baptist, and struck a deal to assist with baptisms at the local Y.
Now, instead of just tilting a person back in the water for a second, we keep them under for 20-30 minutes.
Switching tanks underwater takes some skill, but when we picked up an old-fashioned diving suit, air pump and a hose, we were able to keep people under for hours.
My grandmother still thinks they’re assholes.
Inside Information
Ted’s an Afterlife Coach, helping the recently departed deal with post traumatic death syndrome and other issues.
He likes to say he gets ghosts to believe in themselves.
You’d think it’s hard for him to get paid. Dead people don’t carry cash. Their assets are usually frozen or bequeathed to family or given to charity.
And so few people actually have wall safes full of cash or buried gold coins in the back yard.
But when you can talk to spirits, the dead have plenty of dirt on the living.
Blackmail’s such a dirty word.
Let’s call it “Inside information.”
Who watches?
Who watches the watchmen?
I do. I’m their supervisor.
I keep track of them with this computer. It tells me when they tap their badge against the checkpoints in the bank headquarters.
But it’s not like we do much good walking around. The cleaning crew steals stuff all the time, putting it in their carts.
And employees walk out with thumb drives full of sensitive data.
Oh, and those million-dollar bonuses executives paid themselves after the bailout? The biggest theft of all.
The biggest crimes happen in broad daylight, while my team just walks around an empty building at night.
Outage
“My website is down!” shouts the voice on the phone. “I’m losing hundreds of dollars a minute in business!”
“What is your website?” the technician asks.
“Hold on. Lemme look it up.”
The customer spells the website wrong twice, and yells some more.
The technician types it in, and it comes up.
So, he has the customer try to bring it up.
“I can’t!” he shouts.
“Can you go to CNN?”
“Sure, hold on… and… nope! Can’t get Fox either. None of the channels. My cable’s out.”
The technician mutes his phone, mutters “fuck you” softly, and sips his coffee.
Glass Houses
People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.
Visitors shouldn’t throw them, either.
In fact, nobody should be throwing stones around glass houses.
Are there glass houses? I’ve seen houses with outer walls of glass, but I’ve never seen a house made entirely of glass.
The furniture and carpeting’s not made of glass, right?
Maybe the clever scientists at Corning are working on that. If they can invent fiber optics, they can invent a glass house.
And it would be shatter-resistant too.
Unlike that window you broke playing baseball in the yard.
That’s coming out of your allowance, Bobby.