On the corner of a street in the middle of a town there was this pizza place. This pizza place had a pin-ball machine, Frogger, and Mortal Combat, which could all be played at the competitive rate of 50cents a game. There were many booths, all painted red, each usually containing the mark of a regular customer or a tear in the seat. The bathrooms were respectfully clean, and there was a sticker on the mirror that said something along the lines of “Every worker that works here washes their hands” so you know the food was good. And the food was good, a perfect example of mom and pop quality. The bread was always served warm, the pizza was always filled with grease, and the Pepsi-Cola was always served in a Coca-Cola glass, but who can tell the difference anyway?
The customers were great, they would pop in on a regular basis and always sit at the same spot, kind of sit-com like. They would discuss things like their relationships and siblings and sporting events and whatnot, people just loved to stop by and enjoy the surprisingly stable economy.
There was a man that owned the place, his name was Frisco. He had moved to the town to open up a new law firm, but one day as he was eating lasagna at a restaurant when he noticed that the kitchen was on fire. He quickly took one more bite, chewed, swallowed, grabbed his cup, drank, swallowed, put the cup back down, grabbed a napkin wiped his mouth, and rushed into the kitchen to see if he could help. He grabbed a fire extinguisher and hastily distinguished the flames. He then looked at the ground and noticed an older man asleep. When Frisco woke him up the man said that he didn’t like running the restaurant because he never had any time for his children and his gameboy. So Frisco took over the place and made it what it is today, a great pizza place, with competitive prices. Which helps stabilize the economy.
Thursday, December 7, 2006
Puppet Love
I dated a puppet once. She was a string puppet. The first time I saw her she was sitting on a park bench crying because her last boyfriend had dumped her for one of those slutty puppets where you put your hand in it’s back.
She had a good heart. She spent most of her time volunteering down at the shelter teaching shadow puppets new designs. Her dream was for every underprivileged shadow puppet to learn that it could be more than a bunny, that if it worked as hard as it could it could be anything it wanted. Even a falcon or a squid!
But she had her own obstacles to overcome. As I mentioned before she was held up by strings. We did fun things together, sure, but we could never do some things that normal couples could do. Things like bouncing in a gravitation free room. It might have been fun for a while, but eventually one of her arm strings would wrap around one of her leg strings, and you know how hard it is to untangle those strings, it’s dang near impossible. I would have had to put her out of her misery, which is not something I would want to do to my dog let alone my girlfriend.
She had a good heart. She spent most of her time volunteering down at the shelter teaching shadow puppets new designs. Her dream was for every underprivileged shadow puppet to learn that it could be more than a bunny, that if it worked as hard as it could it could be anything it wanted. Even a falcon or a squid!
But she had her own obstacles to overcome. As I mentioned before she was held up by strings. We did fun things together, sure, but we could never do some things that normal couples could do. Things like bouncing in a gravitation free room. It might have been fun for a while, but eventually one of her arm strings would wrap around one of her leg strings, and you know how hard it is to untangle those strings, it’s dang near impossible. I would have had to put her out of her misery, which is not something I would want to do to my dog let alone my girlfriend.
The Tragic Tale of a Dewaholic
Hi, my name is Isaac Thomas and I am addicted to Mountain Dew
My mom always told me that Mountain Dew was evil. But she had spent several years in the Army, and spoke in Morse code so it was hard for me to interpret what she was saying. When I was in 6th grade I attended one of those wild parties your church leaders warn you about. The music was loud, the girls were wild (just so you know, a wild sixth grade girl is a girl that doesn’t wear pony-tails anymore), and the Mountain Dew flew rampant. I attended the party with a friend of mine named Matt. As we entered the party I promised myself I would obey my mothers wishes and stay away from the dreaded juice. But peers can be very persuasive.
Her name was Nadine. She was one of the few girls in 6th grade that had started going through puberty but was still shorter than me and also didn’t have a mustache. She came over and told me about this drink that made you feel alive, older, and less like a dork. The drink was Mountain Dew. She held out her hand, offering me a cup.
I held the cup in my hand. I could feel the bubble remnants bursting in my face. I could smell the sugar, I could see Matt hitting on a girl, unaware that his fly was undone. I knew I shouldn’t, I knew it was wrong. But there was something about this beverage that seemed to beckon me. It knew my name, it spoke my language, it was part of me.
Mountain Dew now runs my life. I had a successful job. I was a Chairman for a factory that specialized in making Number 1 fingers for sporting events. But I left it to be a janitor at a local bakery just because all employees get free Mountain Dew. I had a beautiful wife named Tabetha and a beautiful daughter named Nadine. (Who was named after the Nadine from the party, but I told my wife it was a name from one of Shakespeare’s lesser known plays.) Tabetha said I had to choose between them or Mountain Dew, Nadine said blagle. (She was still learning to talk) They are gone now. Last I heard Tabetha was dating the chariman from the company that makes the cheese hats for Packers games.
Hi, my name is Isaac Thomas and I am addicted to Mountain Dew.
My mom always told me that Mountain Dew was evil. But she had spent several years in the Army, and spoke in Morse code so it was hard for me to interpret what she was saying. When I was in 6th grade I attended one of those wild parties your church leaders warn you about. The music was loud, the girls were wild (just so you know, a wild sixth grade girl is a girl that doesn’t wear pony-tails anymore), and the Mountain Dew flew rampant. I attended the party with a friend of mine named Matt. As we entered the party I promised myself I would obey my mothers wishes and stay away from the dreaded juice. But peers can be very persuasive.
Her name was Nadine. She was one of the few girls in 6th grade that had started going through puberty but was still shorter than me and also didn’t have a mustache. She came over and told me about this drink that made you feel alive, older, and less like a dork. The drink was Mountain Dew. She held out her hand, offering me a cup.
I held the cup in my hand. I could feel the bubble remnants bursting in my face. I could smell the sugar, I could see Matt hitting on a girl, unaware that his fly was undone. I knew I shouldn’t, I knew it was wrong. But there was something about this beverage that seemed to beckon me. It knew my name, it spoke my language, it was part of me.
Mountain Dew now runs my life. I had a successful job. I was a Chairman for a factory that specialized in making Number 1 fingers for sporting events. But I left it to be a janitor at a local bakery just because all employees get free Mountain Dew. I had a beautiful wife named Tabetha and a beautiful daughter named Nadine. (Who was named after the Nadine from the party, but I told my wife it was a name from one of Shakespeare’s lesser known plays.) Tabetha said I had to choose between them or Mountain Dew, Nadine said blagle. (She was still learning to talk) They are gone now. Last I heard Tabetha was dating the chariman from the company that makes the cheese hats for Packers games.
Hi, my name is Isaac Thomas and I am addicted to Mountain Dew.
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