To whoever’s in charge of viral marketing at the toy company that just left a bunch of spammy comments here: your work is, perhaps, slightly misdirected. Although I don’t doubt that many King of States! readers enjoy a good plastic dollhouse, there are likely other blogs where you could more profitably focus your spammerfic efforts.
I bought an apple yesterday, intending to eat it this morning. I like apples cold and crispy, so I left it by the open bathroom window. Then I decided to shower, so I moved the apple to the bedroom window. In the night, it was too cold to keep the bedroom window open, so I shut it, re-opened the bathroom window, and moved the apple back there. This morning, I forgot to eat the apple. As I was getting ready to leave for the day, I heard a gust of wind roll the apple off the sill, but I was running late and promptly forgot about it.
And that’s why there’s an apple in the bathtub of room 909.
UPDATE! When I returned to my room tonight, the apple had been neatly replaced on the sill.
My craw is unusually full this week. Do they make craw extenders?
I bet SkyMall sells them. Hand-hammered copper or prismatic titanium; your choice, only $119.99! Never suffer the discomfort of a bloated craw again!
Hi there! I hope you got home safely last night. By which I mean, “I hope someone sidled up to you as you walked down the street, high on friendship and Thai food, then grabbed your genitalia, followed you down the street, and lurked outside your building.” This glorious nightcap to an otherwise lovely day shouldn’t be available only to women, am I right? Let’s spread the love!
Actually, I don’t hope that at all, because unlike you, I’m not an asshole.
Dear Wayne Nutnot,
Your “edgy” and “humorous” post about how you are a feminist but find female genitalia to be “objectively gross” is neither edgy nor humorous nor feminist. Attempting to generate laughs by degrading women is one of the oldest tricks in the book. If you’re going to do it, at least do it well enough that I’m disgusted but begrudgingly in awe of your wit. This is a hack job, and you know it. Cheap clicks.
Dear Gentle Readers,
If I happen to write a post about Your Pet Topic That I’ve Never Shown the Slightest Interest In Before — unlikely, but I suppose not outside the realm of possibility — then please, leave a comment about Your Pet Topic.
Dear Westin Copley Place Boston,
Your pillow-topped bed was luxurious, your clam chowder delicious, and your employees just on the right side of obsequious.
When I filled out my post-stay survey, I didn’t enter anything into the “What could we have done to improve your stay?” field. Upon further reflection, I would like to suggest that you make large fluffy dogs available to your guests.
I know there are some hotels that loan goldfish to their pet-deprived guests, to which I say: have you ever tried to spoon with a goldfish? I burned through 17 of those suckers before I gave up, and then I had to have the sheets changed in the middle of the night. Not fun.
The specimen to your left, from genus Chester J. Lampwick and Felix P. Hoernicker, are highly experienced snugglers and would be available to fill the role for a modest salary, payable in dried liver treats.
I await your reply.
I keep reading these unbelievably crappy things — “physician-assisted bulimia” for the obese, Steubenville, the growth of publicly-funded crisis pregnancy centers — and I know I should have something to say about them. But it’s like a critical mass of shit (which, really, is just the definition of “patriarchy,” I know), and I’ve only been able to respond by drinking heavily and harshly judging people on public transportation.
Dear Sean, the 36-year-old man who tried SO HARD to impress those stupid, entitled, dickweedy prep school seniors on the 12:03 Acela out of Penn Station,
You realize that just makes you the King Dickweed, right? I’m sure your girlfriend would be thrilled to know how you compared her hotness level to the high school senior’s string of hookup buddies.
Hope you reclaimed your youth!
TL,DR: I’m grumpy.
I think I’ve figured out how to create consensus on the gun issue.
I has been brought to my attention that media darlings the Westboro Baptist Church will be demonstrating in Connecticut to make clear their view that the massacre of kindergarteners was willed by their god because of America’s increasing acceptance of same-sex marriage.
Frankly, I find it sloppy and lazy that any god would mete out its judgment in this way. Back in the day, god still had a pair and wasn’t afraid to rain down fire and brimstone when people started acting up; none of this trickle-down judgment bullshit.
Therefore, I assume that Westboro followers and their ilk will agree that a broad gun ban is acceptable: if god really wants to do some smiting, he should be able to get the job done sans mentally unstable man with gun. I mean, in the Old Testament book 2 Kings, god sends bears to rip 42 kids to bits just because they got a chuckle out of pointing out that some dude god liked was bald, to say nothing of Sodom and Gomorrah or the whole ark business. Clearly, god can take care of his shit.
So: we repeal the Second Amendment. Gun violence decreases dramatically. If god is serious about the gay marriage thing, he’s free to smite innocent children himself. If he decides to go for it, Westboro is proven right and we all grovel before Fred Phelps. If he doesn’t, no one has to die, and Jennifer and Jessica are free to register for that panini press at Crate & Barrel.
If this isn’t a win-win proposition, I don’t know what is.
In the meantime, I apologize to Connecticut, and the rest of the world, really, for the Westboro Baptist Church. We’re all kind of hoping they decide America is too far gone and try some Heaven’s Gate-style repentance.