I HATE Bolt Signs.
You know the ones. The 30-plus black temporary signs with highlighter orange, yellow and green letters stuck to them that sit in every plaza and strip mall in town. They really are an eyesore, and are only a marginal improvement over a sheet of dirty plywood with daubed on letters using left-over paint. There's an argument that the plywood option at least has some unique artistic qualities to it.
The person that introduced these signs must have a lovely home - you know, displaying his empty beer can collection in his living room, the lithograph of THOSE dogs playing poker above the plug-in electric fire with faux-brick surround and a lifetime discount membership to The Shopping Channel.
Driving Thoughts.
So, it occurred to me this morning that my thoughts are so very eclectic when travelling alone for any sort of distance.
I've recently acquired a new customer, which requires me to drive 45 minutes each morning with just the radio for company.
I was listening to the regular contest segment that occurs at around 8.15am and upon conclusion the caller was informed she'd won 10 massages at a place in town.
From that, I considered not-so-much-about-the-massage parlours - or as they are commonly known, 'rub'n'tugs'.
I visualized for a moment what goes on in those establishments and wondered if the ladies that provided these services had benefits, and whether said benefits cover repetitive stress injuries? As professionals, was 'switching hands' frowned upon? And could you recognize these 'stress-management consultants' in everyday life by the one single vein-pumping bicep that they acquire as a result of the job? Strange thoughts indeed.
Gelding.
On the same radio show, they discussed car thievery - or rather, thievery from cars. Citing a number of things one might do to deter thieves from breaking into your car and ransacking the glovebox, etc. They suggested that if you had a GPS device, to ensure that you not only hid the cables, but also used a napkin to wipe off the ring left by the suction cup on the inside of your windshield. Apparently car thieves have OCD's and the sight of that ring of dried-out saliva will drive them nuts.
I have a better solution. Leave the GPS in place, maybe even park your vehicle in a dimly lit part of the street. Then sit covertly waiting for said car thief.
Once the perpetrator began the process of defiling your property, approach him stealthily from behind with the pair of gelding shears that you discovered laying around nearby ("certainly wasn't premeditated, officer") and make sure the low-life, scumbag, faecal-stain never, ever breeds.
Now, some might say that's a little extreme. Fair enough, so for all of the bleeding heart, tree-hugging liberals, you might want to use some surgical spirit and/or a blow-torch (also discovered laying nearby) to cauterize his wounds.
Have a Great Day!
You know the ones. The 30-plus black temporary signs with highlighter orange, yellow and green letters stuck to them that sit in every plaza and strip mall in town. They really are an eyesore, and are only a marginal improvement over a sheet of dirty plywood with daubed on letters using left-over paint. There's an argument that the plywood option at least has some unique artistic qualities to it.
The person that introduced these signs must have a lovely home - you know, displaying his empty beer can collection in his living room, the lithograph of THOSE dogs playing poker above the plug-in electric fire with faux-brick surround and a lifetime discount membership to The Shopping Channel.
Driving Thoughts.
So, it occurred to me this morning that my thoughts are so very eclectic when travelling alone for any sort of distance.
I've recently acquired a new customer, which requires me to drive 45 minutes each morning with just the radio for company.
I was listening to the regular contest segment that occurs at around 8.15am and upon conclusion the caller was informed she'd won 10 massages at a place in town.
From that, I considered not-so-much-about-the-massage parlours - or as they are commonly known, 'rub'n'tugs'.
I visualized for a moment what goes on in those establishments and wondered if the ladies that provided these services had benefits, and whether said benefits cover repetitive stress injuries? As professionals, was 'switching hands' frowned upon? And could you recognize these 'stress-management consultants' in everyday life by the one single vein-pumping bicep that they acquire as a result of the job? Strange thoughts indeed.
Gelding.
On the same radio show, they discussed car thievery - or rather, thievery from cars. Citing a number of things one might do to deter thieves from breaking into your car and ransacking the glovebox, etc. They suggested that if you had a GPS device, to ensure that you not only hid the cables, but also used a napkin to wipe off the ring left by the suction cup on the inside of your windshield. Apparently car thieves have OCD's and the sight of that ring of dried-out saliva will drive them nuts.
I have a better solution. Leave the GPS in place, maybe even park your vehicle in a dimly lit part of the street. Then sit covertly waiting for said car thief.
Once the perpetrator began the process of defiling your property, approach him stealthily from behind with the pair of gelding shears that you discovered laying around nearby ("certainly wasn't premeditated, officer") and make sure the low-life, scumbag, faecal-stain never, ever breeds.
Now, some might say that's a little extreme. Fair enough, so for all of the bleeding heart, tree-hugging liberals, you might want to use some surgical spirit and/or a blow-torch (also discovered laying nearby) to cauterize his wounds.
Have a Great Day!
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
maybelle_:
Thanks for the love, sweetie!
saria:
Thank you for the support on my new set!