At the exact moment that I was wondering where the giant lizard crawling over our ceiling had gone, my cat Sweeny decided to ask for breakfast.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
DW is evil
DW went hunting and killed a doe. Please don't think any less of me for marrying this evil, evil man. He says that the farmer told him to because the animals are overpopulating the land and starving and so they had to cull them as much as possible.
I don't care what he says. This is how I interpret the situation.
I would give you all his address so you could burn his house down, but it's also my house. So don't.
I don't care what he says. This is how I interpret the situation.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Turns out I'm not just insane, I really DID have millions of insects crawling over my skin!!!
I was brushing my teeth and then noticed what looked like muddy water pouring over the window outside. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was actually an army of gnats flooding to the light emanating from the window. We spent the entire night armed with cans of pesticide trying to get rid of them. There were thousands of them. We switched all the lights off but they were drawn to the light of TV. It was like The Birds but with gnats. Surprisingly it’s even less epic than the Hitchock movie.
DW (spraying them): “Is just me or are they not dying? They keep coming back.”
ESSIE (spraying them): “No, I think these are new ones.”
DW (through a cloud of poison): “Then they are stupid. They should have noticed all the little corpses of their comrades by now.”
ESSIE: “Maybe it’s a strategy. Maybe they keep sending in reinforcements until we’ve sprayed so much poison in the room that WE die. Maybe they are kamikaze gnats.”
DW: “So now what?”
ESSIE: “I say we keep spraying them. I’m committed now.”
At worst, we’ll both be infertile by morning.
DW (spraying them): “Is just me or are they not dying? They keep coming back.”
ESSIE (spraying them): “No, I think these are new ones.”
DW (through a cloud of poison): “Then they are stupid. They should have noticed all the little corpses of their comrades by now.”
ESSIE: “Maybe it’s a strategy. Maybe they keep sending in reinforcements until we’ve sprayed so much poison in the room that WE die. Maybe they are kamikaze gnats.”
DW: “So now what?”
ESSIE: “I say we keep spraying them. I’m committed now.”
At worst, we’ll both be infertile by morning.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Why I'll never get promoted
ESSIE: “When are we implanting nap time at the office?”
KAT: “We don’t have that here.”
ESSIE: “This job is bullshit. All other companies have nap time. Or at least free juice.”
KAT: “You are thinking of kindergarten.”
KAT: “We don’t have that here.”
ESSIE: “This job is bullshit. All other companies have nap time. Or at least free juice.”
KAT: “You are thinking of kindergarten.”
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Dear Applicant, I think your career counsellor was a paedophile
I come across many applicants who have chosen to diversify their skill set quite a bit, but this is a weird career choice.
Nursery nurse or massage therapist...? I wonder how the two disciplines are related...
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
I'm pretty sure we went to the leather fetish factory...or maybe it was just on TV
ESSIE: “DW, say something stupid. I need material for my blog.”
DW: “I’m not falling for that one.”
ESSIE: “You’ve fallen for it like, thirty times.”
DW: “Don’t write anything. No one’s going to care.”
ESSIE: “Yes they will, DW. They will turn on us. They are a fickle, unstable bunch. And before you know it we are watching the smouldering ruins of our house disintegrate as the fire consumes it. And we’re dead.”
DW: “Well, I’ve told you to stop putting all of our personal information on the Internet.”
ESSIE: “It’s not.”
DW: “Your license plate number is on there. And your e-mail. And a picture of our house. And don’t blog about this, you’ll just draw more attention to it.”
ESSIE: “I won’t, DW. I’m not STUPID. Maybe I can write about that time we went to the leather fetish factory. That was fun. Remember that?”
DW: “No. Probably because it never happened.”
ESSIE: “You’re not fun anymore.”
DW: “I’m not falling for that one.”
ESSIE: “You’ve fallen for it like, thirty times.”
DW: “Don’t write anything. No one’s going to care.”
ESSIE: “Yes they will, DW. They will turn on us. They are a fickle, unstable bunch. And before you know it we are watching the smouldering ruins of our house disintegrate as the fire consumes it. And we’re dead.”
DW: “Well, I’ve told you to stop putting all of our personal information on the Internet.”
ESSIE: “It’s not.”
DW: “Your license plate number is on there. And your e-mail. And a picture of our house. And don’t blog about this, you’ll just draw more attention to it.”
ESSIE: “I won’t, DW. I’m not STUPID. Maybe I can write about that time we went to the leather fetish factory. That was fun. Remember that?”
DW: “No. Probably because it never happened.”
ESSIE: “You’re not fun anymore.”
Monday, August 2, 2010
The reason they don't fill the potholes is because disembodied old people live in there...or so we assume.
Today was a new record for near death experiences – two in one hour. Well, three, really – if you count the suicidal feelings I encountered after not liking what I saw when my life flashed in front of my eyes.
The first one was when a rock shot up from the embankment where men in lab suits were mowing the grass and chipped my windshield. They had put up obvious warning signs that read “MOWING” but honestly – what can you do about it? The second one was when a cow from the shantytown stepped in front of my car very suddenly. I don’t know why they allow cows to cross the highway. I imagine it went something like this:
MUNICIPALITY: “You can’t let your cows wander free and live in your houses. This is a residential area.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Why not?”
MUNICIPALITY: “Well, for one there is no grass here. It’s cruel.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Well, now that you cut it, yeah.”
MUNICIPALITY: “Well, we’re the municipality. We say you can’t keep them.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Yes we can. It’s erm...part of our culture.”
MUNICIPALITY: “Oh! Well, in that case, it should be fine then.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Also if you could not fill the potholes that would be great. Our ancestors live in them.”
Of course, they could have easily put up fences or restricted the grazing along the highway but instead they put up baffling signs:
They even have one of a cow leaping over a fence that I couldn’t find a picture of. But the cows in the shantytown are kinda rife with Anthrax and live on plastic bags and municipal grass and there aren’t fences anyway so no leaping is being done. I mean, they’re not lemmings.
The first one was when a rock shot up from the embankment where men in lab suits were mowing the grass and chipped my windshield. They had put up obvious warning signs that read “MOWING” but honestly – what can you do about it? The second one was when a cow from the shantytown stepped in front of my car very suddenly. I don’t know why they allow cows to cross the highway. I imagine it went something like this:
MUNICIPALITY: “You can’t let your cows wander free and live in your houses. This is a residential area.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Why not?”
MUNICIPALITY: “Well, for one there is no grass here. It’s cruel.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Well, now that you cut it, yeah.”
MUNICIPALITY: “Well, we’re the municipality. We say you can’t keep them.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Yes we can. It’s erm...part of our culture.”
MUNICIPALITY: “Oh! Well, in that case, it should be fine then.”
SHANTYTOWN: “Also if you could not fill the potholes that would be great. Our ancestors live in them.”
Of course, they could have easily put up fences or restricted the grazing along the highway but instead they put up baffling signs:
They even have one of a cow leaping over a fence that I couldn’t find a picture of. But the cows in the shantytown are kinda rife with Anthrax and live on plastic bags and municipal grass and there aren’t fences anyway so no leaping is being done. I mean, they’re not lemmings.
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