Enjoy Your Movie Seat!

Each time I shifted in my seat, I smelled something sour. I tried to dismiss it as a run-of-the-mill other-people-sweat smell but eventually had to admit it was urine. Was it on my shoes? On the coat of the guy seated in front of me? The woman two seats over? I sniffed my arm, my hands, my knee — I sniffed my knee during an IMAX showing of Interstellar. Getting no closer to identifying the source, I leaned over and whispered to

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Bring it on, Sandy. We’ve Got Hot Dogs.

Of course I panicked a little late about this hurricane, so by the time Silas and I made it to Target yesterday all the good stuff was gone. The store appeared stocked, but a closer look revealed that the bottled water left on the shelves was sparkling and the batteries were all AAAs, and I'm not really concerned about the ability of Arlo's electronic piggy bank to deliver its best snort throughout the storm. But I also couldn't leave empty-handed.

PAT (People Against Testosterone)

“MEN!  Are you over 40 and lacking the energy you had in your teens? It’s because you have depleted levels of testosterone! All you need is MORE TESTOSTERONE and our medication will trick your body into making more of that magical youth serum so you can start feeling like your virile self again! 50 is the new 18! I’m assuming you’ve seen the commercials with the sad dumpy middle aged guy who looks like he would love to throw a football but

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This Toy Maker is out to Save the World

As I understand it, two things can happen this year: The world ends (Mayan prophecy), or everything continues as normal (everyone else’s prophecy). Not a lot of grey area there, but those appear to be the two situations. Keep in mind that I get all my news from magazines at pharmacies. Seems like given those two options, the toy/training facility you see below, might just be the perfect gift. Let’s say the world ends. Terrible, yes, but bad stuff happens

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Day 356: A Rare Interview with Charles Elton Cheese

Chicago’s alternative jazz clubs in the early 70’s launched the careers of a few male vocalists. Charles Elton Cheese was not among them. When the scene fizzled in ’75, no mainstream bands had any desire for an avante garde scatman. With a gig every night, and more drugs and women than he could possibly consume, life seemed almost too grand, but when the gigs and women dried up  he was left with only stories, and needles. By 1976, Charles was

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