PAINFUL, YET EDUCATIONAL

When I was 26, I bought a car on my own for the first time. That seems kind of late in life for that event, but it had something to do with spending 6 of 8 prior years in the Navy and using the USS Enterprise as my preferred form of transportation. After a few cursory external glances & a short test drive, which should have red-flagged the mechanical monstrosity, but which I blithely shrugged off as "probably just needs a tune-up", I plunked down $700. Many hundreds of dollars in repairs later, I finally finally traded in my money-pit for $40 and that salutory, albatross-free feeling.

In retrospect, I'm glad it happened. All that cash bought invaluable wisdom, and, although I still buy cheap used cars, I haven't been rooked like that since.

Via Mean Mr. Mustard, I've discovered that Michele, in her infinite cruelty, wants to deprive others of learning the similarly valuable lessons which can be so easily garnered by losing a few small body parts in fireworks mishaps. Although I cannot condone such gross thoughtlessness, I can at least console myself with the notion that anyone who can't understand the simple equation of "explosion + proximity = ouch!" will be too damned stupid to heed her cute little signs anyway.

VIVA DARWIN!

CAN'TCHA SMELL THAT SMELL?

Scrappleface, with his usual stlye & wit, mocks Wal-Mart's new anti-gay-discrimination policy by proposing that the negatively fragrance-enhanced could be the next protected class. Nice bit.

Speaking of which, the hygenically challenged seem to be disproportionately drawn to my teller window. I work in Wisconsin, and it's farm country here, but jumpin' manure buckets, Farmer Brown, could you at LEAST wash the damn pig dumpings off your hands before you come in to do your banking? I realize you're acclimated to the odor, and you probably don't understand why everyone in the lobby is coughing & turning green, but my smile might look a little more sincere if there was just a little less of Babe's colonic fingerpaint on your shoes, pants, shirt, hands and deposit slip.

And what are YOU laughing at Mr. Is-my-SSI-direct-deposit-in-yet? You're "disabled", you "can't work", you "need" that $1500 a month of government bum-grease to live on. Tell you what. While you're busy pissing that money away on the beer & smokes that cling to you in a month-thick stink cloud, and between watching HBO for 12 hours a day, running up your $100 cable bill, maybe you could squeeze in a little time to buy some soap and a copy of "Personal Hygiene for Dummies".

This year, I don't want a raise, I want nose plugs.

TODAY’S GRAFFITI CURRENCY



Might have worked better on a $100.