2003 was a shitty year for me. Up until that point, I was a man’s man. And a boy’s man. And, of course, a lady’s man. In fact, if you had hands and knew how to spill shit, I was your man. I was an icon, a mustachioed lumberjack-god with a heart full of determination and a body made of inky cellophane wrapped around puffibly soft paper towels wound around what a six-year-old and ten seconds of imagination would turn into a cardboard beat-stick.
I was the Brawny Paper Towel Man, and I was good at it, too.
Then the people of Brawny decided they had to part ways with me. Gave me a few tut-tuts and sent me packing in favor of some firefighting douchebag pretty-boy with a jaw as rugged as a ten-year-old boy’s quivering, undescended and prepubescently smooth scrotum. I’m not bitter, mind you. The Brawny Man doesn’t feel bitterness- he feels rage. Now, I don’t quite know what happened next, though a few people have given me theories. Guy I know, amateur astronomer, spends so much time looking through a telescope he’s got stars in his eyeballs, he tells me I came into being because people are nostalgic for things. Scorned ex-husbands who want to be where their old wives new boytoys are, factory workers who’ve been replaced with machines, people like that. I’m the masculinity they’ve lost, the old days they want back before they were obsolete like me.
Another guy, real nerdy, probably the most practical guy I’ve ever met who carved his eye out for a squiggly friend no one can understand, thinks I’m just crazy. Threw out words like “personomancer”- that’s someone who gets power by pretending to be someone they’re not- and “iconomancer”- that’s someone who gets power by sucking up to famous dead people. His thinking is I was some dweeb with a hard-on for a paper towel mascot and decided to throw my old life away. This idea bothers me, so I don’t think about it.
Personally, I figure that when the paper towel company cut me loose, they really cut me loose. I don’t play by their rules anymore, because they changed the rules away from what they were supposed to be. It’s not about cleaning up messes over there, it’s about making it look like you want to clean up messes, and Brawny doesn’t play like that. I just need to figure out a way to make them quit using my name.
Haven’t had the time to make them stop yet, of course. Problems keep coming my way, and I’d be a damned jackass if I didn’t do what I could to help folks out. Old, dying loonies following old, dying schools of magic (what’s this “magick” bullshit, by the way? People forget how to spell?) either need me to help them out or have to be put down when they get out of hand. Good thing I’ve got my axe.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
Guess who accidentally parked in the CEO's parking space at work this morning?
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
It's especially funny because it's not a parking space I would have chosen had others been available--it's near the main entrance, sure, but it's at the opposite end of the building from where I work
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
(It wasn't marked "reserved" or anything, and I couldn't find any other spaces, so I assumed it was up for grabs. Until like 10 minutes later when someone explained it to me and asked me to move my car.)
Baked beans are actually the devil, the source of all evil in the world, the painbringer beyond all pain, beware, beware, beware.
Ugh, I know how much it hurt when I drank orange juice concentrate, and it sounds like what's happening to you is worse. Augh, I'm so so sorry. I hate it when you're in torment.
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You know
The whole "we only use X% of our brains" thing seems a bit like implying cars are useless because they're parked 90% of the time
The whole "we only use X% of our brains" thing seems a bit like implying cars are useless because they're parked 90% of the time
Cars are worse than useless; they in fact are responsible for millions of deaths every year. Also, suburban sprawl, roadkill, and all sorts of destruction.
The whole "we only use X% of our brains" thing seems a bit like implying cars are useless because they're parked 90% of the time
Cars are worse than useless; they in fact are responsible for millions of deaths every year. Also, suburban sprawl, roadkill, and all sorts of destruction.
Brains are in fact responsible for millions of deaths every year, as well as suburban sprawl, roadkill, and all sorts of destruction.
Comments
I know, I'm as surprised about it as you.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
some people were missing you keenly
i have a job now, which is nice
it involves inordinate amounts of chicken
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Light Translation
:-DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
(Or secret evil to which AIC is subservient; or maybe the other way around. But they've got to be eternal allies against all that is good and holy.)
The whole "we only use X% of our brains" thing seems a bit like implying cars are useless because they're parked 90% of the time
were things less fascist in the 90s? the 50s? the 80s? during world war 1? during the civil war?
It is a bit extreme to assume EVERY blockbuster is one of The Devil's Message To His Followers though