hey, since I last came back from the dead, I've been periodically checking the blog stats and screwing my eyes up trying to make sense of them. It appears that in fact, this weird blog just surpassed 50k total page views, almost all of them in the last two years or so (when I wasn't even writing in it)
who ARE you people? (*hides bong*) I mean, I just wasn't expecting company. Give me a minute to put on pants
Alright guys, come on in (*kicks vibrator under the couch*). Want some ... juice from the Luxardo cherry jar? Emergen-C & water? (*runs frantically to laundry room and back*) need some zip ties that have been through the wash?
Cool cool, sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.
Are you ... ironic blog readers? You know, like 20 year old models who wear Motörhead shirts or people who watch The Room a lot? What? Nevermind. I'm just glad you're here.
Lemme just peek in your backpack before you leave because I've been having a problem with folks walking out with my glass cat paperweights lately .. no, no worries, nothing personal. I don't mean you have to leave now. Or I mean you could just check it at the door. Cool.
Where do you all come from?
No, this isn't group therapy. I mean, it could be. Yawwwwnnnn so tired. From work.
Ha ha, no, not a narcoleptics anonymous meeting either. Good one.
Wanna watch something? I rented this documentary about people who collect Tiffany memorabilia
oh, sorry you have to go but you know, listen. Next time you don't have to stop by, you can just read what I post and haha, yeah, we don't need to talk about it or anything. I know you're busy. You can, you know. Just put it aside or whatever, bookmark it and read it when you're super bored and really have nothing to do .. yeah, I'll just leave it here. Alright.
I'll just walk you out cause .. yeah, don't let the cats out. You got it. Thanks
I'm gonna lock this door behind you so you don't pull a Kramer on me haha
I don't like telling anyone what to do .. I mean thanks for being here willingly and reading this weird stuff I write so that it lands in a brain and doesn't just float into the cloud and dissipate like the majority of our ideas, energy, and time; but listen: I would really like you to read the original Zarvis bum oil post (< link) before you go any further. Go ahead – we'll reconvene here in a minute.
Ok, is your mind blown? Put it back together and prepare for it to be blown again.
Last February (2020 BC, "before covid") my last huzzah with the outside world was a trip to London and Paris. You can probably guess where I'm going with this: I paid the Zarvis London storefront a visit .. wait though, BY ACCIDENT. I STUMBLED ACROSS IT.
After laughing like a crazy person and snapping a couple of photos, I excitedly tried to chat up the gal running the store, ready to be embraced (maybe given the deed to my castle in Scotland, an inscribed tin of bum oil, or whatever – at least some fucking tea) and instead she completely went apeshit bananas on me for photographing the Zarvis sign. I explained the situation. I showed her my ID!!! But she wanted nothing to do with me and insisted I was violating her trademark by photographing a sign with my name on it! Come on lady. You can't trademark my name!! I kept trying to reason and she just kept yelling at me to delete my phone photos. No way, psycho. The last she saw of me I was holding my license up to the window desperately, like a fish drowning in oxygen, like Charlie in Lost
It was a total barf-o-rama.
Check this out. Even Mom was mad!!
^ this is Mom mad. She's very nice about it.
That's it, London woman. You're out of my will. You want that dirty hippo mug? Tough crap, jerk. Also, the store was empty. shrug shrug.