The Apple Store? If Banksy really wanted to sell out, he’d start designing covers for the annual reports of Fortune 500 companies. He’d put together press packets for the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland. He’d paint irony-free Hamburglars on the walls of train stations across America. Who knows, he might even produce hip stickers for greeters to distribute at Walmarts worldwide. But the Apple Store? That actually seems like a good fit for the renegade British artist. Mac-themed corporate graffiti might be in poor taste, but I don’t think anyone would object to Banksy having an app. Actually…Banksy already has an app.
Archive for the ‘Bliss’ Category
I’m one of those people who shies away from drugs, and not just the illegal kind. Some folks trudge to their doctor for a Z-Pak whenever they feel a sniffle coming on, but not me. I’m apt to drink orange juice, go to bed early, and let nature take its course. Even when I’m told to take medication, I try to minimize the number of pills I actually swallow. Late last year, my dentist made an incision in my gum and wrote me a prescription for pain pills. He gave me ten, and I managed to take only three. I was pretty proud of that.
There’s nothing wrong with having a strong work ethic. Someone who keeps his nose to the grindstone at work can earn himself some handsome rewards: better pay, faster promotions and, above all, the satisfaction of a job well done. The same holds true at home, where a steady diet of chores can net someone a clean house, a well-manicured lawn, and a steady stream of home-cooked meals. But there’s also a downside to working all the time. For evidence of that, see the two guys in this strip. One of them (the goof-off) has a full head of hair. The other (Mr. Work Ethic himself) has only a handful of strands to call his own.
My head hurts and drugs are not helping. To clarify, the generic painkillers that I took about an hour ago aren’t helping. When I hold my hands to my temples I feel a dreadful thumping. When I move my body suddenly, I feel a pang in my forehead. And when I lie down with the lights off? Well, it helps, but only a little. Hopefully a good night’s sleep will alleviate my headache. If not, then…what? More useless medication?
Thankfully, my neighbor’s dog has stopped barking at me. After weeks of yapping, he finally realized that I live next door and that it’s okay for me to use the walkway that leads from my house to my garage, even if it brings me perilously close to his fence. This tiny pooch no longer runs alongside me, letting out dissatisfied howls. He’s now content to butt his nose up against the fence and sniff. He must like what he smells (cat hair notwithstanding) because he’s managed to remain quiet about it. Good boy.
There are few things that excite me more than the promise of commercial space travel. Seeing the entire earth from above would be…awe-inspiring. On the other side of that coin, there are few things that bum me out more than the proposed cost of commercial space travel. Virgin Galactic, for example, will happily launch you into space for the low, low price of $200,000. That’s just a wee bit out of my price range, but I’m holding out hope that the cost will come down significantly over the next 40 years. If a commercial space flight costs, say, $10,000 in 2050, then I would happily put off retirement for a few years in order to punch my ticket.
Everyone has proverbial skeletons in their closet. But literal skeletons? Those would be awkward. For one thing, they’d get in the way of the clothes. A suit coat is flat, but a skeleton, despite not having layers of muscle and skin to fill it out, is bulky. Skeletons are also creepy, whether they’re comprised of actual bones or whether they’re printed on flat sheets of paper that are designed to be hung on exterior doors. Sure, paper skeletons fit neatly into a closet, but imagine peering at a clothes rack and finding a dozen identical cut-outs. The experience would be jarring. Still, keeping skeletons in one’s closet is tamer than taking those skeletons out into the world, like the guy in this strip has. But let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe he was inspired by Weekend at Bernies and started hauling his dead pal around until he decomposed…no…wait a minute…that’s much, much worse.