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But wait, there's more.

There's just no polite way to say "Buy me things", is there?

Join codebastards, I dare you. Remember, codebastards are us.

I'm baded and jitter. So are these people. (And why not follow the previous, next, or random links?)

Need a band name?

Doug vs. Japanese Snack Foods: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

rant is where the heart is

diaryland: entry for 2001-07-13 (18:03:00)
In which our plucky young hero goes from bad to worse.

So I'm downtown doing some banking and buying some groceries (it's chili tonight, yay!). Turns out that today is the Sidewalk Sale, when three blocks of the downtown get barricaded off so that we can enjoy the rich pageant of nature, if by "nature" you mean 50% off men's shirts and used CDs, and $1.50 popsicles.

One of the innate drawbacks of the Sidewalk Sale is that everyone and their dog pull out a sound system to amuse the public, and I despair for my city whenever they do. Because, and I say this not without a pang, nobody who picks music for these things has any goddamn taste.

For example. For. Example.

As I walk past the off-sale, my ears perk. Is that a guitar riff they're hearing? Is that... my God... is that...

Sweet home Alabama
Where the skies are so blue
Sweet home Alabama
Girl I'm comin' home to you

Oh, please God, kill me.

Kill me now.

I make my way past that hellish atrocity known as "Sweet Home Alabama", carefully checking around for a woman with no face. I am untempted by the merchandise for sale. I am in the sidewalk sale, but not of the sidewalk sale.

Finally, I am past the block. The damned song fades from my ears. I breathe a sigh of relief.

And then. I hear. The next stereo system.

Tryin' to get away into the nyiiiiiight
And then you put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground and--

Kill me, God. Kill me twice.

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