The World's Only 6-Ton Prairie Dog

The World's Only Corn Palace

The World's Only Corn Palace in Mitchell, SD

Note these frescos made of corn, sure to boost your patriotic sentiment

Great day albeit wet.

Can't figure out how to post photos to blogger from the iPhone so you can't see the breathtaking views, so let me just tell you it is entirely possible to eat sausage gravy twice in one day good night. Also, visit Wall Drug.

PS:MPH

I got a speeding tx 25 minutes into the trip, but it inspired an engaging and provocative discussion about the ability to truly say fuck it. And it was in the spirit of adventure. The company primarily, and with that the rhythm of the road, have caused me to forget it truly (I don't easily let go of situations involving $160 out the open window), better than any meditation techniques, or Buddhist "self help" books as she calls them, usually allow me to let go of crap. Miraculous. Must take more trips, or, spend even more time with my lady, if that's even possible? This is a pretty nice bathroom for a hotel, btw. Ok back to
Angry Birds and then the road.

Day1

Am just about to fall asleep in our room at the Kwality Inn. It's not really with a K but that is my joke for the day, "you mean quality with a k?" We drove and ate road food and talked a lot and i drank so much diet coke i got willy wonka eyes and then we ate at a restaurant and went swimming and this is it. We are enjoying these comforts now because soon we shall enter the badlands

posted from my iPhone (ok?)

Taking off

What she said. I need a full three days of not typing --- I mean it. My hands are really killing me lately.

The sleep of reason produces monsters

No giving up!

"And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
And cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame,
'I am leaving, I am leaving,'
But the fighter still remains."

Sunday barbecue

Ezra doing Eenie Meenie Minee Mo, choosing which kid gets to pick the next song on his iPod. The tissues are in his ears so he doesn't have to listen to Justin Bieber.

The Book of Ezra

The lone traveler looks out upon a post-apocalyptic world.

Revelation 2012

And lo, the Lord laid down an unholy shitstorm upon this world.

Top Ten Lyrics Unintentionally Referencing Prison Rape, Part 1: Roy Orbison

From Working for the Man

"Forget about your woman and that water can
Today were working for the man...

...Don't relax
I want elbows and backs
I wanna see everybody from behind

'Cause you're working for the man, working for the man /
You gotta make him a hand, when you're working for the man

Oh well I'm pickin' 'em up and I'm laying 'em down
I believe he's gonna work me into the ground
I pull to the left I heave to the right
I wanna kill him but it wouldn't be right."

Bleets

Since I'm not clever enough to compete in the worldwide jack-off festival that is Twitter, I've decided to divert my compulsion to broadcast myself onto these humble pages, instead of into the electronic dark. Today's bleets, then:

1. People who drive de-commissioned police cars are universally creepy.

2. I bit a hole in my tongue during Ambrose's class trip to the Minneapolis Institute of Arts. Tour guide: How about the name of the painting? The date? Its style? Why does this one look so funny? Is it art? Kids already know how to name colors for fuck's sake.


3. I don't have a third.

Where is my mind?

"With your feet on the aerial, head in the clouds..."

It was supposed to be a 15-minute trip downtown. The new contract employer says I need to have a photo ID, and that I could come in today, go to the 26th floor, take a picture and leave. I drove around what felt like a few times in the parking garage, found a spot, and then did like I always do --- jumped out of the car, my mind already on the next 10 things I'd be doing today. I seemed to walk a long time until I even saw a sign that said "Elevator," with an arrow, and following it I started noticing all the cars parked in Reserved spots and wondered what kind of people owned them. Assholes? Smart people? Normal, broke people with two kids who figured out it was cheaper to get a monthly contract? I saw a motorcycle. I noticed how tight the ceiling was over a few of the Compact spots, parked in one of which was a sweet Mercedes. I saw a Mercedes on the road earlier today, I remembered.

I liked the way my shoes felt on the painted floor. So clean. Almost not like a garage at all. Like a showroom. What an evocative word, "showroom." I thought the Window Washing Station was a nice touch. I noted the echo-y silence and it reminded me of visits to my grandmother's building in the Bronx...

My Grandmother hated driving, so the '67 or '68 Beetle she kept in the garage, a clean well-kept space like this one smelling just vaguely of oil and rubber, had only 26,000 original miles on it and was factory-fresh except for the St. Anthony statue neatly adhered to the dashboard. My fucking aunt sold that car when she decided to move my Grandmother into a retirement home in South Carolina, just as she sold off heirlooms far more dear and characteristic to Grandmother Teresa than a car she never drove. The piano. The statuettes from Venice. The alabaster cup with the Greek people dancing around it. 60 or more years worth of Christmas ornaments! Jesus. I'm pretty sure that retirement home killed her, by the way. Bingo? Those genes my aunt shares with the other side of the family don't easily connect the brain and heart in those who inherit them.

Shit this is a long way to go. Coming up on the elevator now. That's a nice potted plant, and look, a bench. Like a hotel lobby.

After years of painfully learning the same lesson I've finally gained just a sliver of insight, a few seconds' worth, to remember how easily I get lost. So as I walked up to the elevator bank I started repeating to myself: when you return you will make a right out of the elevator, a RIGHT. I got into the elevator and pressed the "1" button and noticed briefly how quick the ride was. Walking out of the doors after they shushed open I saw a Bachman's Floral sign in a cardshop window and repeated: BACHMAN'S FLORAL. The elevator you use to get to the garage is right across from the Bachman's Floral sign.

Up to the 26th floor, nice view of downtown up there by the way, it's still novel working in the city. I'm playing grownup now. It took two minutes to get my picture taken and get out of there. I'm sure the picture looks terrible. No matter how hard I try to smile I just look mean. The woman taking the photo said, "Let's take just one more." She should talk. Nice green sweater. Down the elevator to the lobby and I started chanting again: look for the BACHMAN'S SIGN. I found it. Stepping into the elevator I repeated quietly to myself: When the doors open, you will step out and go RIGHT. As the doors shushed closed I looked at the columns of amber-lit buttons, 1, P1, P2, P3. Maybe you can see where this is going.

I drove for a while when I first got to the garage, I thought, so it must be P3...

Alzheimer's, fucking Alzheimer's! I'm hissing to myself after walking the whole way around all of P3, P2 and most of P1. I never get used to the panicky feeling. Yesterday I got lost trying to find my desk. Will that woman, the one who sits on the end of the row several rows down, the one who approved the budget for my contract, see me walking past her desk four times and have second thoughts? He must be crazy or stupid.

The panicky feeling. 15 minutes. I won't get paid for this job until June 10 so every dollar counts, and I reluctantly chose to use the garage over the meter because I planned to get out of there in 15 MINUTES and sometimes that only costs a few dollars vs. blasting through downtown cursing trying to find a meter and using up my cash to pay the babysitter.

The only consolation for having this empty sack of wet tissue for a brain is the feeling of relief I get when I find my car (or my keys, or my wallet, or my phone, or my desk, or my kid). Pulling up to the pay window the slightly um, mentally-deficient-seeming beanpole of a man in the Allied Parking windbreaker says "6 dollars."

"6 dollars? JESUS. I was barely here." Poor fellow. He probably hears that all the time. His hair is wavy and his glasses are thick and in fact, he looks sort of like Noam Chomsky would if he got addicted to huffing gas. A once-intelligent and now vacant-eyed shell of a husk of a person taking credit cards in a sunless tomb. I'm pretty smart, really. Am I looking at my future self? Should I start doing crossword puzzles and stop drinking Diet Coke?

The thought was disturbing as I rolled up the ramp out into the light of May and the recorded voice echoed "car approaching." It was a disturbing thought indeed. Good thing I already forgot it.

i swear i'll blog again

i started a new job kind of and I am busy; before that I was working on scholarship essays to try to get some money; before that I was, eh I don't know.

so for a time there will be short posts about shitting and farting. maybe occasionally a clip to some good music or something i find funny.

if this is your first time reading this blog and you've been reading shit like this, i swear, it's all like this.

Working at it.

One of the things about working in an office as I did today is having to hold in your farts. When I had a safe moment, I swear, that thing lasted 10 seconds.

I am not really writing this on Sunday. It's Monday. I was working on a scholarship essay all night and couldn't summon an extra finger.

review: bridesmaids

haven't laughed so hard over a good shit joke, or any joke for that matter, in a long time. very worth it. with the right date of course.

Dear Shit Detective:

Dear Shit Detective:

Today a friend of mine was struck by an urgent need to visit the public restroom while running the path around the lake. This friend of mine had neither the time nor the inclination to fashion a seat cover out of toilet paper, so he squatted hovering over the seat. Unfortunately the drop was too far and built up too much velocity. Public toilet water splashed upwards directly into his asshole. Will this friend of mine catch a disease?

Sincerely,
Severely Clenched

Skeleton shopping.

You know your new life has finally begun when you actually have a legitimate, professional reason to buy a 4-foot-tall human skeleton.

Blaaaarg

The Sheep's Tell-All Best Seller

And then, the shepherd madeth me to lie down in green pastures...

Love, Anonymous.

"We're a group of volunteers and starting a brand new initiative in a community. Your weblog supplied us valuable information to work on. You have done a marvellous work!"

Flavor

The holiday gas station has a machine you can squirt flavors into soda with like cherry, vanilla, lime and etcetera. Tonight, at famous dave's barbecue, we learned they just introduced a dr. Pepper flavored barbecue sauce. What is this crazy mixed up world? How did I become so fortunate as to live in it?

Band photo.

blank.

Internet broken no blog

The candy-colored clown they call The Sandman.

The only gay in the village.

Martin it's Linda...

May Day Parade