Thank you for asking!

Well, I got me a flashy new job, thanks in part to my good friend Mike, who was kind enough to alert my references to the fact that they should answer their voicemails and call my potential employers to let them know that I’m awesome at absolutely everything and heart-stoppingly handsome to boot. Thanks, Mike!

I have to dress nicely when I go to this job. I have to wear things called “ties” and “undies”. Here I am getting all gussied up! I’m so proud of myself!

Let’s see, rabbit goes up through the hole, around the tree, bypassing the kwanset hut entirely, stopping briefly to check the mail, nothing but a Rite Aid advertising supplement, around a completely different tree (hemlock this time)…

And voila! Lookin’ good, fatass! Ready to take on the day! Or, more likely, fall dead asleep in traffic, run over eleven children, and drive into a lake! Whatevs!

There really isn’t much I can reveal about the job itself that would be of any remote interest to anyone who thinks words ought to be entertaining, so let’s just say I have a full-time job now, I’m able to pay bills and buy food on occasion, and flibbidy ding-dong a dootily dunt funt.

A couple weeks ago we went on this huge yard saling quest with our friends Dan and Tori, and neglected to really take any pictures or document anything that happened. I’ll show you the few pictures we did take anyway.

There’s Dan, holding a document of some sort and taking an inexplicable interest in a speed limit sign, and Tori, carrying the 812 items she’d purchased in the past half hour to the car.

And here’s me and the swell AM radio I bought at an estate sale that otherwise had a very distinct owl/bear/Christian theme. It’s the Sears Silvertone, and it’s a beaut. The only things that come in on it are local sports commentary, Anne Murray and Carpenters songs, and French dudes going “wee wee poo poo blee blee bloo bloo”. It is a source of instant relaxation. If I dropped it on your head, you would die. Incidentally, if you ever get the chance to go to an estate sale, by all means do it. You basically go through a recently deceased person’s house and loot it. Quite something.

Wowie! We are going to have so many tiny ice cubes once I wash all the crud off these ridiculous things!

Among other things, we also ended up with a rather nice wooden magazine rack, several silly mugs, a hardcover copy of “Barbapapa”, a nice if odd-smelling blanket, and a tee-shirt that an old man informed me he won several years ago at a jitterbugging contest. I asked him if he could still jitterbug and he sadly waggled a nearby walker in response. I soundly berated him for his lethargy, threw a handful of change on the floor at his feet, and returned to the car, overturning a table laden with tacky housewares en route.

Once we were done value-hunting, we got what appeared to be barbecued horse penis at an otherwise perfectly good purveyor of sauced pork. We went to see the new Indiana Jones movie, about which the less said the better. I’d rant and rave about it, but truth be told, you could go to any random overgrown nerd’s widdle bloggy-woggy and read pretty much exactly what I’d be saying about it, so why waste more bandwidth on a shoddy, insulting waste of the world’s time? If I could fill George Lucas’ mouth with ass blood right now, I would. I mean it, I’d drop what I was doing, gore my rectum with a steak knife, staple him to the carpet, and let ‘er rip. Talk is cheap, you know what I mean?

What else? This past weekend we had the pleasure of spending several hours with my dad, as he had to stay overnight at my house. He talked exclusively and nonstop about his bakery job and Warren Buffet. We took him to Johnny’s restaurant, where Annie had mac and cheese with hot dogs in it and I had beans and franks and bacon. We like restaurants that offer things with cut up hot dogs in them. Dad got a burger and onion rings and by way of informing the waitress that we wanted separate checks (to clarify, I would have happily purchased his meal, but I hate it when people get into check-paying arguments at restaurants. It’s one of the few [all right, maybe not few…] things that makes me think that killing people is an fantastic idea as opposed to not very nice. As such, if people want to exchange their own monies for meals, they will receive virtually no argument from me. The fact that I am generally impoverished and not at all generous is only part of a bigger picture, a very unexciting picture as it turns out and one I intend to stop discussing by the end of this sentence), he stated “I’m on my own” to which the waitress replied “Oh honey, I just got married a few months ago”, which was delightful to all of us and assured her as least a fifteen-cent hike in her potential tip. As it turned out, Dad’s insistence on being listed on a separate check probably directly added to the subsequent misplacement of said check, and by the time the waitress figured this out Annie and I were pretty much done, not to mention bloated and gassy. So we had to sit there and groggily watch Dad eat a burger in between blurted factoids about Warren Buffet and packing cupcakes. Bacon is good crumbled up and stirred into beans and franks. Throughout the remainder of the evening I repeatedly broke boiling wind that scalded my inner thighs to the point of bruise-hued translucence, but it’s all in the name of value-conscious dining, and I intend to explain that to the lucky doctor who gets to perform my inevitable colonoscopy.

The following day, after Dad had gone to work, I met my mother at the Old Town High track, where she was finishing up the tail end of a benefit for breast cancer she’d participated in, which entailed staying up all night with a bunch of people and taking turns walking around the track, which by this time was a sneaker-suckling mudhole thanks to the rain which had seen fit to assail the selfless walkathoners for the majority of the event. The weather didn’t seem to have greatly affected anyone’s mood, however, and I was struck, as I often am around people who like things such as “effort” and “helping others”, by the bewildering aura of goodwill and lack of bitching about wet pants and whatnot. Myself, I’d be hard pressed to walk across the street in the interest of curing my own cancer, so needless to say I was impressed. I don’t have cancer. I’m lazy and selfish, is what I’m saying. When that was over, I opted to purchase a chicken salad wrap for my mom and treated myself to a 12 pack of PBR in the bottle. You don’t come across PBR in the bottle for purchase every day, and upon noticing it in the store I tackled the box, hissing and slashing the air whenever anyone approached me until I was sure I could make my purchase and leave the store without being bested in a cheap beer tug-of-war with a no doubt wilier redneck. I was victorious, for the moment, but soon realized that carrying a box of 12 beers, a chicken salad wrap, an order of popcorn chicken, two things of Rolos (another thing you don’t come across in stores every day. Tim’s Little Big Store rules! I got gummi tarantulas there the other day!), and a bag of new Cape Cod buttermilk ranch flavored chips up a hill on a rainy day is really tiring and awful and sad (Annie had taken the car to a friend’s bridal shower, or otherwise no way would I have been walking to get things). I actually ached the following morning from carrying beer outside. It would have been a decent workout, or certainly better than I’m used to, had I not completely obliterated any good the exercise might have done by briskly pouring six of the beers into my mouth once Dad had picked my mom up to go home. I then spent the remainder of my afternoon alone trying to teach myself how to play “Every Which Way But Loose” by Eddie Rabbit on guitar, with middling success.

Anyway, now that I’ve had a couple weeks to get my head around my new responsibilities, drink a bunch of bad beer, and practice my late-70’s Clint Eastwood monkey movie soundtrack playing abilities, I can get back to this foolishness.

And what have all of you been up to? I suppose I could just go read your blogs, but I’m a busy man!

Some YouTubes in closing!

Here is something I laughed at:

…something I cried at! Wah! (it was pretty late at the time, so i was tired, but still…):

…and something that sort of blew my mind (starting at :43):

Talk to you fancy folks later!



  1. Quonset. How you been? I can’t find the spoon bag…

  2. I have not yet seen Indiana Jones, but your comments only make me want to see it more now. Also, this – “If I could fill George Lucas’ mouth with ass blood right now, I would. I mean it, I’d drop what I was doing, gore my rectum with a steak knife, staple him to the carpet, and let ‘er rip.” – is the best threat to George Lucas I have ever read, and in this post Jar Jar world, I’ve read a lot of them.

    And I would totally buy that 5 Neat Guys album.

  3. butthorn Says:

    Actually, Tori, my quick-to-correct friend, this particular hut was manufactured by figure skater Michelle Kwan, a shed-builder in her spare time and a longtime family friend of my tie. My only mistake in this case was in not capitalizing the brand name Kwanset, so I suppose I can see how you may have become confused. I’m just fine, thanks, by the way, and I have no idea what “spoon bag” means.

    Bill: Do not see the new Indiana Jones movie. I realize you’re going to anyway, and that’s fine and expected and unavoidable, and if I were you and you were me and you were saying unkind things about the new Indiana Jones movie that I hadn’t seen yet, it would in no way prevent me from going to see it. I have to at least try to dissuade you, though. I’m trying to be a better friend. I would buy the 5 Neat Guys album in a heartbeat, and am saddened daily that it does not appear to be real. “Who Made the Egg Salad Sandwiches” makes me laugh EVERY TIME.

  4. Videoport is selling off the three seasons of SCTV that Bill bought, in dewey anticipation of a groundswell of Canadiamania that utterly failed to materialize. I think the fifteen or so discs rented a total of about twelve times in three years. The world is a sad and puzzling place.

  5. That little piano girl if f-ed up! I can’t help but want to kick her in her face she’s soo cute and talented.
    I hate and love Yoo Ye Eun.
    Also, hello.

  6. butthorn Says:

    Hello, April! Did you cry at the blind Korean musician child as I did? Children from other countries are so much cuter and more talented than ours. Take a hike, American children!

    I’m very sad that “5 Neat Guys” seems to have been removed. Stupid copyright-upholding Canucks!

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