“It’s SO much more than a bag…”

Hey, if anyone is interested in living out the Rowan Atkinson jewelry store scene from Love, Actually, go buy a Sephora gift card in the Kenwood Mall. I’m fairly certain the bags and decorations I’m carrying are worth more than the money I put on the card.

The guy behind the counter put the gift card in a decorative bag inside another decorative bag. After he added two perfectly shaped decorative sprouts of tissue paper – different colors and patterns, of course – he then insisted upon placing everything in a third decorative bag for my carrying convenience. I was content at that point to stand back and just see how many more flourishes he would add. It was kind of mesmerizing.


You ever try drinking Dom through a crazy straw? It’s damned near impossible. It’s so effervescent that you get nothing but foam. Not that that stopped us from doing it, I’m just saying. I dropped the crazy straw in and it spouted up like a volcano in my hand. That was our first sign there was gonna be trouble.


What the shit, man??? When the hell did they take down the Young & Bertke tin man pipe robot guy sign thing?!?


Look, I’m only going to say this one more goddamned time. I had no idea there was a baby in the car. I just needed some wheels, man.

This Just In

Fox 19 just announced that tonight they’ll be airing a news segment warning that con artists are taking advantage of the elderly. Also tonight on Fox 19, there seems to be some trouble at Three Mile Island, and who was the mystery gunman that shot JR?


They make unicycles with 4 foot diameter wheels and 5 foot high seats. I know this because I passed a jackass riding one down Colerain Ave. I hate driving in this fucking city.

Fuck that guy. I think I have a decent sense of whimsy, but I had already gotten lost and delayed by endless construction detours and unmarked streets. Nothing in the world can strip away my humor and good will like driving in Cincinnati. NOTHING. Unicycle asshole was yet another reason a street full of people had to hit the brakes. I hated him. I hated him immediately, as soon as I saw him, and I hoped like hell he’d get hit and killed in my rear view mirror. Just talking about it now makes me hate him still. I hope somewhere, somehow, something grotesque and awful is happening to him. Why? Because he was the one slowing down traffic and I’m the one telling the story, that’s why.