Bouvre

Pussy so rancid it's the bass solo in Maxwell Murder

I'm drinking two beers after work/before bed

At least we can say we put the fun in funeral.

Now we're getting somewhere.

Those are basically, like, the same thing.

The Unfinished Swan is also quite delightful.

Journey, Gone Home, and Proteus are three that come to mind.

My Dicks makes some bombass burgers and shakes in the greater Seattle area.

I attracted one spouse and they married me and I'm still not sure how or why.

John Hershey describing skin falling away in huge, glove-like pieces in the book, Hiroshima

All you needed to say was Wal-Mart to make my reproductive parts shrivel in fear for the future

funny I thought to myself "What!? Strange way of going about it!" Until I realized after reading I do just that.

That's the other job

It's too white a town (and ownership) to really call it a Mexican restaurant with any truth to the statement. The burritos are great, but chairs and more chairs? Thats golden.

Better share

Facsimile of chair Chair clone Mimic from the video game Prey

What's making your day busy? Nothing planned outside of errands, some writing, and watching Ace In The Hole

The quality chair product

At last, with my face back I can wipe the nervous sweat from my brow.

Please give me back my face. My name doesn't need it as much as I do.

I moved to New York City with nothing but the shirt on my back and another shirt on my legs. I knew so little about the world and fashion but I was determined to make it in this town and prove my parents wrong. "It isn't as reasonably priced or as clean in New York as it is here, Daniel," they warned as I walked out of their house in Toledo. They would have said absolutely anything to get me to stay. It was shameless. I found an apartment in Brooklyn, a fourteenth-floor walkup owned by a one-armed man named Sharon. He was good to me. We'd stay up late into the night and talk about current events and why it's easier to have two arms. I couldn't pay rent in the beginning, so I did odd jobs for Sharon around the apartment, mostly small-scale taxidermy and some larger-scale taxidermy. But eventually I had to start making money of my own, so I decided to earn a living the old-fashioned way—as a blacksmith. Before I set off on my search, Sharon handed me a box. Inside was a pair of pants. I'll always remember what he said as I opened it: "Put these on the lower half of your body." And that's exactly what I did. Growing up in Toledo, I didn't learn much in the way of street smarts, so when the first person approached me asking for a signature on an animal-rights petition, I didn't know I was supposed to punch him. But I learned quickly. I passed hot-dog carts and fruit carts full of the famous New York City bananas I'd heard so much about, and I told myself that one day I'd buy one of those bananas and eat it just like they did in the movies. After a few minutes of hunting for blacksmith opportunities, I learned that there isn't much of a market for blacksmithing anymore. Those were dark hours for me. This town was even tougher than my parents had said. Then I reminded myself that if I'd wanted things handed to me on a silver platter, I should have become rich. That really depressed me. And these pants were suffocating my legs. I was heading into a downward spiral when I passed a woman on the sidewalk handing out smoothie samples. One taste and I was instantly transported back to a time when I was down on my luck searching for a blacksmith job. I spat it right out. Man, I couldn't catch a break in this town. I was dreading Sharon's reaction when I returned without a job, but he understood. He told me that life wasn't always peaches and cream and two arms. He was right. One thing was certain—I needed a fresh start, big time. So the next morning I headed into the heart of the action, Times Square, in search of a sign, anything that might give me some purpose. And there it was, staring me right in the face: the big, bright lights of Broadway. And right underneath those lights was a group of filthy Elmos taking photos with tourists for tips. I knew then that I wanted to be the filthiest Elmo this city had ever seen. Over the next few weeks, I collected taxidermy squirrel scraps at Sharon's and dyed them red until I could piece together a full Elmo getup. Then I hit the streets in the hopes that the Elmos would accept me into their posse. Boy, didn't they. It turned out that the last thing they wanted was another Elmo to compete with, especially one with real fur. One of them hissed menacingly at me; another made a menacing neck-cutting gesture with his furry finger; and a third tried to stab me with a menacing knife. This was no Sesame Street, and squirrel hair was the itchiest thing I'd ever felt in my life. Just then I heard a muffled "psst" from inside the helmet of a nearby Buzz Lightyear. "Those Elmos are really territorial; you can hang on our corner. I'm Phil; this is Inez," he said, gesturing to a Hello Kitty standing next to him. I shook his hand and said, "To friendship and beyond!" He didn't get it, but I think Inez smiled—it was hard to tell. One thing I could tell for sure was that she was probably gorgeous. I worked that corner for a week before gathering enough courage and tips to ask Inez out. When she showed up for dinner, I immediately noticed how much older she looked without her costume head on. We talked about life on the streets. I told her about my failure as a blacksmith and she told me that she missed the life she gave up in Chile, where she worked as a totally different costumed street performer. Then we went back to my place and made love on the back of a taxidermy caribou. It was incredibly uncomfortable, but we didn't care. When I woke up she was gone, and so was my wallet. But as I looked out at the big city from my window, it was with a newfound confidence. I told myself that if I could make it here I could make it anywhere, and if I couldn't make it here, there were some places I'd probably still be able to make it in other parts of the country.

Buffalo Wild Wings

I'm more referring to the undying love for them, which I'm certainly guilty of.

I really like them, especially the share-space and lit folders.

I'm currently onto reading J Robert Lennon's Broken River, which is about a family moving into a house where a double murder occurred, and how their histories weave into the history of the house. It has a very unique approach to perspective, and wonderfully blends multiple tones into an omniscient narrator who occasionally even tells of a strange being referred to only as The Observer, who seems to be gaining more and more agency as the book continues.