Chip: "When a kid rips a bunch of pages out of magazines and stick them on a wall, we punish him. When a hipster does it, we celebrate his 'genius.' "
Richard: "But you have to admit the ones with naked women are kind of nice, like the image of the Playboy model showing her ass, which Zaguar has cleverly placed in the midst of a fancy cocktail party scene, probably out of a Better Homes and Gardens or something, as a way of exposing the hidden side of 1950's era suburban perfection. I wish I was still teaching my consumer culture course so I could take the students downtown to see the titties."
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While Wonder Fair is thriving, the Cheese Shoppe next door sits empty (as we recently reported), surrounded by a small group of townies sniffing the air for traces of lingering Gouda and recalling the salami sandwich they once ate at at the lone table outside near the dumpsters. Here is the (suitably snarky) sign on the door (click to enlarge):
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Readers, if you love kickball (and several of you do), you can't miss tonight's "game of the week" at Hobbs, where Pita Pit takes on First Blood. According to Candlepants, who maintains the official blog of local kickball, these are the number one and two ranked teams in the leagues, which makes perfect sense, since the Pita Pit players have had a lot of experience outrunning local health inspectors and First Blood, well, they're named after a fucking Rambo movie, aren't they? See you at the game!
2 comments:
Upon reading this latest entry in the 'Larryville Chronicles', Dr. X had Estoban, his pool boy and sharpshooter, throw a rock through my window.
Attached to the rock was a note, scrawled in Estoban's hand, detailing to me a text he received from Dr. X... that he later told me (after I ran out to see who had broken my window) was required to be thrown at my window. After which, he shat upon my shoes,* and told me to politely go fuck myself**
This was the contents of the message:
"Fuck. You. Cheese. Shoppe. Maybe more people would buy your stinking fucking cheese if you didn't have that shit-ass little 'pe' at the back of your name like a bunch of French fucks.
Hipsters can't afford to buy your aged Gouda, nor would they want to purchase it... as they are perfectly fucking happy eating Velveeta -- likely out of the Ro-Tel bowl sitting out on the back patio of Noggle's fuckshack... like a bunch of diseased, verminous cats they are.
Furthertheethefuckmore, Shit-Shoppers, when we clean people want some fucking cheese, we can go to Au Marche (or whatever the fuck it's called) and get some there -- plus a fancy hat and a goddamned entire season of Black Adder to watch while we eat the fucking cheese. Assholes!
Fuck you and Fuck you.
--Dr. X
PS -- if you see Salley, tell him I said Hi"***
Dutifully Submitted,
Dr. Y
*Dr. X did not ask him to do this. It was 'on the house', as he so kindly put it.
**X did tell him to do that.
***I am not, for my liking, too entirely sure whether I am supposed to pass along that message to Salley for Dr. X or not, but that was the entirety of the message, scrawled upon the note set forth on to the rock that is still in my living room. And it has come to my knowledge that it was not so much a rock as a fossilized piece of dung. *sigh****
****I hate my job. And Kip.
I like Dr. Y's new work here, although I only understand about 60% of it!
Also, it has reminded me that I need to host a Ro-Tel deck party soon at the fuckshack!
(we will lick Velveeta off a sorostitute's ass!)
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