Sonic hedgehog
Darden has still said nothing at all about Vince. When they eventually do, it had better be good.
Circuit City is coming up with excuse after excuse why the names should not be released - but then they would, wouldn't they?
* * *
Meanwhile, the daily grind here goes on, and the saga of the mystery tank shows no sign of resolution. I was prepared to get vicious this morning when there was no sign of the bulldozer for the fourth successive day, but - luckily for him - the stick guy had instead brought a thrilling new toy with him: a sonic hedgehog. By this I mean a little thingie that you flush down the loo and then run outside and see if you can detect its sonar waves from above ground. At least, that's the theory. After several flushings, the hedgehog seemed to be sprinting in exactly the opposite direction to the place the tank (on the basis of Tuesday's divinations) was hypothesized to be. I had these dreadful Finding Nemo images - what if the thingie was panicking about heading towards the jaws of all those horrid bacteria? I was somewhat glad to be dispatched upstairs to run the washing machine cycle.
Anyway, after a good thirty minutes of poking around in sub zero temperatures had taken place, after the stick man had just announced that the tank was buried four feet under the drive, right outside the garage door, and had sucked his teeth and started mentioning astronomical sums of money, Landlady Lynn - who in my opinion should have been sitting down with her head between her knees upon learning the information that just a single manhole cover costs a thousand bucks - suddenly said "Isn't there a woman waiting in that car?"
And so it proved. The stick man had left his mother in the car all this time. To be fair to him, he had thoughtfully left the engine running, presumably in an attempt to avoid the inconvenience of a hypothermic parent. On releasing her, however, it was discovered that he had not been entirely successful because the gas had run out.
And so there was only one thing to be done, given LandladyLynn lives in a forest on top of a mountain. Let's just say, it's lucky the grass won't need cutting for another few months....
* * *
Everyone needs an guru to look up to. My guru du jour is a woman called Emily Yoffe, aka "The Human Guinea Pig". This woman has made it her life's work to do really weird stuff: she's kind of like a DC-dwelling soccer mom version of Johnny Knoxville. Anyway, among the stuff she's tried lately: working as a telephone psychic, doing an internet get rich quick scheme and - most recently - trying to get her invention of "hairmuffs" picked up for sale on QVC.
If you too wish to worship at the shrine of the Human Guinea Pig, you can visit her at http://slate.msn.com/?id=3944&cp=2077894
Circuit City is coming up with excuse after excuse why the names should not be released - but then they would, wouldn't they?
* * *
Meanwhile, the daily grind here goes on, and the saga of the mystery tank shows no sign of resolution. I was prepared to get vicious this morning when there was no sign of the bulldozer for the fourth successive day, but - luckily for him - the stick guy had instead brought a thrilling new toy with him: a sonic hedgehog. By this I mean a little thingie that you flush down the loo and then run outside and see if you can detect its sonar waves from above ground. At least, that's the theory. After several flushings, the hedgehog seemed to be sprinting in exactly the opposite direction to the place the tank (on the basis of Tuesday's divinations) was hypothesized to be. I had these dreadful Finding Nemo images - what if the thingie was panicking about heading towards the jaws of all those horrid bacteria? I was somewhat glad to be dispatched upstairs to run the washing machine cycle.
Anyway, after a good thirty minutes of poking around in sub zero temperatures had taken place, after the stick man had just announced that the tank was buried four feet under the drive, right outside the garage door, and had sucked his teeth and started mentioning astronomical sums of money, Landlady Lynn - who in my opinion should have been sitting down with her head between her knees upon learning the information that just a single manhole cover costs a thousand bucks - suddenly said "Isn't there a woman waiting in that car?"
And so it proved. The stick man had left his mother in the car all this time. To be fair to him, he had thoughtfully left the engine running, presumably in an attempt to avoid the inconvenience of a hypothermic parent. On releasing her, however, it was discovered that he had not been entirely successful because the gas had run out.
And so there was only one thing to be done, given LandladyLynn lives in a forest on top of a mountain. Let's just say, it's lucky the grass won't need cutting for another few months....
* * *
Everyone needs an guru to look up to. My guru du jour is a woman called Emily Yoffe, aka "The Human Guinea Pig". This woman has made it her life's work to do really weird stuff: she's kind of like a DC-dwelling soccer mom version of Johnny Knoxville. Anyway, among the stuff she's tried lately: working as a telephone psychic, doing an internet get rich quick scheme and - most recently - trying to get her invention of "hairmuffs" picked up for sale on QVC.
If you too wish to worship at the shrine of the Human Guinea Pig, you can visit her at http://slate.msn.com/?id=3944&cp=2077894
posted by alranson | 7:54 AM
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