Fatale Abstraction

My day has been ruined by this photo, and now it's your turn.


For once, I actually wish I saw underwear sticking up out of that mess. For goodness' sake, put some clothes on, you filthy whore!

The vomitorium is the third door on the right.

You're welcome.

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While I'm on a roll, how about the morons who refer to their transmission as a "tranny." A tranny is a transvestite or transexual. Full stop. I don't care what your uncle Bubba called it.

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Rollover to voice mail on cell foams. I am on the phone half the day at my job, and that's fine, but when I return someone's call and it automatically rolls me over to voice mail, well, I'm ok with that too. But then they call me 10 minutes later and say "Oh, I saw you called" and I say "did you listen to my message?" and 9 out of 10 times they say "oh, I just couldn't get to the phone in time" and I then have to unfurl the whole nine yards I just spooled out onto their dad-burned voice mail. I'm going to stop leaving messages altogether. The irony is that if they'd listen to brief but detailed message, there would often be no need for further conversation. Actually, the message I get from the other person is that they have no respect for my time and the effort it took for me to return their moronic-assed phone call in the first place.

Why does a mud hut on the Yukon sound more like paradise with each passing day?
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Funeral fun: Mausoleums 'R' Us!

Burial plots go duplex/fourplex/condo. The "Atkinson" looks like a 3 port storage unit. Squint a little and you can see the orange corrugated metal doors.

Then there's the "Gilinder" which looks like a dam from the public works projects of the Depression era. There's something grave (did you see that? grave?) and comforting about this monument that says "this sturdy thing put food in the mouths of hungry families. Generations of stonecutting families from the granite gulags outside Genoa have honed their mad skills to make this monument possible. Keep on rocking in the bereaved world."