A Quick Example

I work in a small town, where the municipal building and the post office are connected. I ran to the post office today for the second time, and, just like the first time, it felt really strange.

This time, though, I figured it out: the number of signs. I quickly counted the number of signs in the parking lot, which was 17. Then I counted the number of parking spaces, which was 49. That’s right, there was a sign for every three parking spaces: yield signs, stop signs, no parking signs, handicapped parking signs, and street signs (in a fucking parking lot). Worse yet, I was there on the lunch hour, and there were maybe a dozen cars in the lot, three signs for every two cars.

They don’t trust that you can figure your way around a parking lot the size of a small backyard. Do you think they’re going to trust you with your life, citizen?

12 thoughts on “A Quick Example”

  1. well, may as well have some fun with it, then.

    My favorite quote from Billy Beck about No Treason –

    “I never want to have another *goddamned thing* thing in the world to do with you, you rat-fuck shitbag”

  2. And I had thought the closing of the Vogue was a sad thing for you, Broward. Oh, well. What will all the model-railroad hobbyists do now? (I’m sorry; for “model railroad enthusiast” read “BSDM enthusist”. They are much the same thing, after all.) No rubbery Goth girl? I had hoped by now you had run into the mysterious disappearing R. whose favorite trick was to suddenly and without explanation cut off all communication with peoplem, even friends she’d known for years, leaving them to wonder, hopelessly, what they’d said or done wrong. Not that I’m bitter or anything. As far as personal matters go, I have a lot more to be bitter about than that. And, really, she doesn’t deserve to be afflicted with you.

    On the other hand, there’s L, that rotten bitch who used to bartend there. You I’d certainly wish on her, and if you see her, feel free to inform her that I’ve forgiven and forgotten nothing, and that she’s still a rotten bitch. Go on, ask her out at the same time. That’d be ironic justice for you both, no doubt about it.

    It’s a world of shit, really. But since the misfortunes and misery of others makes your little heart go pit-a-pat, Broward, well, it’s your kind of world after all, isn’t it?

  3. C. H. on Seattle:

    “”Well, come on! Our woods are filled with the perpetual self-cannibalizing that makes up a rainforest, along with the hundreds of skulls left by our prolific serial killers and the shattered dreams of our alcoholics, gold-rush losers, loggers, sailors, and com-symp agitators past and present. They were fucked up in life, are fucked up in death, and are ever-more-fucked-up by the rains that beat down on them even now.”

  4. Der Ãœbermensch ist perfekt. Der Ãœbermensch ist der Sinn der Erde. Euer Wille sage: der Ãœbermensch sei der Sinn der Erde!

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