Taken literally, this is a pretty gruesome punchline. The martini-sodden woman on the left wishes she and her friend could “cut and paste men?” As in, jab them repeatedly with sharp objects and then dress their wounds with Gorilla Glue? Is Real Life Adventures trying to fill the horror void left by the recently departed Saw franchise? I doubt it, but I can’t think of how else to explain the dialogue in this strip. In terms of the classic Microsoft Office protocol, it makes little to no sense.
Archive for November, 2010
I’m a sucker for a smart turn of phrase. That’s why I perked up when I read, “The crocs have learned that the ground is filled with gophers.” The ground is filled with gophers? I suppose it is, along with many other things that we tend not to think about: roots, rocks, worms, moles, dead bodies (human and animal), and air pockets just waiting to become sinkholes. Our elementary school science teachers might have taught us that the earth is 70 percent water, but that’s just the surface of the earth. What happens when we dig? Apparently, we find gophers.
I have hardwood floors in my house – hardwood floors that just so happen to be dotted with paint specks, glue globs, and glitter particles. One of these days, I’ll have the floors refinished. I could rent a sander and refinish them myself, but something tells me that would be a bad idea. Would it be costlier to hire a professional? Of course it would, but it would also be grating to pick small bits of sawdust out of my furniture for the next 30 years, and that’s surely what I’d be doing if I tackled this project myself.
I’m sitting in front of my space heater, wearing a knitted cap and looking very much like The Edge. Why? Because my boiler went out earlier today and the temperature in my house has dipped to 58 degrees. Not only that, but the repairman who came out this afternoon told me I needed a new unit. I probably do, but I’ll shop around for one instead of going with the first guy who comes to the house. In the meantime, I have several things to be thankful for: my house is not drafty, I still have a working hot water heater, and my gas bill for November will be ever so slightly less expensive. Goody.
I woke up this morning to find jack-o’-lantern bags on my front lawn, a Christmas tree in my living room, and leftovers in my refrigerator. Then I remembered why Thanksgiving is the most hectic holiday of all. Not only is there lots of cooking (and eating, and dish-washing) to do, there’s also an ungodly amount of decorating to get through. Leftover Halloween decorations? Take ’em down quick. Boxed up Christmas decorations? Get ’em up quick. Still-standing pine trees? Chop ’em down quick. Those of us who refuse to let Christmas supersede Thanksgiving find ourselves in a constant state of hurry. It’s one reason why, when people ask what they can bring to Thanksgiving dinner, I always reply, “wine.”
Some people worry about their Thanksgiving dinner being bland. This year, I worried about my Thanksgiving dinner making people sick. Why did I worry about this? Because last night, my wife and I couldn’t get the tiny metal drumstick clamp out of the turkey. We twisted and pried and cajoled, but we couldn’t do it. I even tried using a pair of wire cutters that had been sitting in the basement. I wiped them off before using them, but I still worried about drywall (or other) residue infecting the turkey. The wire cutters didn’t work, so I wiped off the clamp with a disinfectant wipe, wiped off the disinfectant wipe residue with a wet paper towel, and consoled myself with the fact that the bird would sit in a roaster for five hours.
I’m also a fan of metal bread-pinching things. I think they’re great…for everything but pinching bread. Call me unsanitary, but when I pick out a dinner roll, I use my hands. It’s the only way I can gauge the texture and temperature of the roll. Tongs are fine for grabbing, but they’re useless for determining quality. They also have a habit of tearing holes in rolls, which can be frustrating, especially when the tear ruins a perfectly browned outer layer. So this Thanksgiving, I’ll leave the bread-pinching instruments where they belong: in the junk drawer where they can be fished out for impromptu bouts of jousting, nose pinching, and remote control grabbing.