Mostly scary with a chance of unrelenting anxiety. Although Saturday afternoon finds cool breezes dancing through open windows, the likelihood of dark clouds seeping up from the bowels of hell will fuck with hearts and minds. Atmospheric thought pockets of Oh I Hope There’s Not World War 3 will linger but should dissipate by Monday, should Monday arrive.
Back to you in the studio,
942. Why agencies don’t have a “NO MATTER WHAT WE DO, EVERYONE IN THIS COMMERCIAL WILL LOOK AND SOUND LIKE FOOLS” disclaimer at the beginning of every diarrhea, gas and constipation ad
943. How using the word peccadillo is a peccadillo
944. The horror of a broken straw
Sometimes on Saturday, after our lunatic brother breaks protocol at the park and runs onto the field in the middle of a Little League game and we get caught up in the hysteria and follow him for one second and no more, we like to burrow under a blanket of regret and beg our mother for forgiveness, hoping she’ll understand that the whole situation was simply too intoxicating to ignore.
Yours In Oh No,
1. Being nailed to the front of a runaway locomotive
2. Having pomegranate seeds stuffed up my nostrils
3. Manure scented perfume
4. Debilitating gas during a job interview
5. Bat stew