Michael Kindt's Blog, page 67
March 5, 2016
….says the millionaire movie god. LOL.
….says the millionaire movie god. LOL.
Holy bitchcakes, batman, was that a short squeeze on energy stocks or what?
Bank.
Shots around the table, on me.
March 4, 2016
March 1, 2016
This is PornHub’s stats by state for 2015....
This is PornHub’s stats by state for 2015. ‘Cartoon’ kills me (while I dial up step mom porn)…
February 29, 2016
Jo the Waiter - Gary Numan
Jo the Waiter - Gary Numan
Elucidation
My morals are separate from what happened with the little dog. I am merely reporting. In hindsight, I worried about the dog’s paws. I did not report that the girl went into the Irish pub and a few nearby stores asking for the car’s owner, to no avail.
Granted, it could probably have been handled in a better way, but couldn’t everything?
It’s on, motherfucker.
We were standing on the sidewalk, looking at this little dog trapped in a car with all its windows rolled up. Even though it was February 27th or some shit, it was warm out. Climate change and all that. Outside it was a pleasant 68 or 70 degrees, but in the little dog’s car, which was sitting in the sun, who knows? Much higher, to be sure. The little dog was panting and panting, looking at us plaintively.
I was with my friend Daryl, who has long hair clear down to his ass, thus saving him money on toilet paper.
(I kid him).
Me, I’m bald, thus saving me money on hair care products.
We had just come out of the Irish pub, even though we are both Germanic in descent. Him, Norwegian, me, Flemish. Other people noticed us standing there being concerned about this little dog. A small crowd was gathering.
A girl asked, “Does anyone know whose car this is?”
No one knew.
“This is bullshit,” she said after everybody shrugged and muttered. “I’m gonna wait five minutes, then I’m calling the SPCA.” She begin looking at her phone, counting down.
A few minutes later, more people had gathered. There was like a dozen of us now. Again she asked, “Whose car is this? Anybody’s?”
We all shrugged and muttered again.
“…Not mine…I don’t know…”
“Fuckit,” she said. “I’m calling.”
I was interested in the crowd dynamic, how muted and uncommitted it was, until this girl showed up and took charge. The fact that she made a decision about the situation gave her instant leadership. When she declared that she was going to call the SPCA in five minutes, we were all like, “Yeah! Do it! The bastard!”
When she did call, however, they had no one available to come down for an hour or more. Apparently, the few agents they have were out dealing with other neglected animals.
She was pissed. “Well, I’m not just gonna let this little dog bake to death.” She went down the alley, Art Alley, it’s called because graffiti is legal in it–provided you don’t spray paint a giant EARLY ONSET OF NIGHT in black over everything.
Live and learn, huh?
She came back with a brick and slowly circled the car. “Can one of you guys try and get the dog over to one side?” she asked.
I stepped up, for she was my fearless leader now and I totally believed in her mission. I went to the driver’s side window and knocked. “Heeeere, puppy, puppy!” The little panting dog hopped over to me, putting little white paws on the window sill. I knocked again, lighter this time, and the little dog cocked its head at me.
SMASH! She busted out the back passenger side window. For a moment we all just stood there, even the girl, thinking “Did that just really happen?”
She tossed the brick onto the sidewalk and looked at me and smiled. Then she ran.
She had braces. As long as I live, I will never forget it.
The crowd tittered for a moment, including me and Daryl. Then we all ran, too.
February 27, 2016
Saw a Trump fan at an auction today (I bought a sweet, brutal hunting knife, 4 bucks. I kind of have a thing for knives).
He has the made-in-China “Make America Great Again!” trucker hat, along with the TRUMP 2016 wife-beater t-shirt.
I swear to god it was a wife-beater. Trump 2016. Wife-beater.
So I went up to him, “Where’d you get that shirt, man?”
He gave me a web address. “The hat is cheap, too,” he said.
“Yeah, whatever about the hat. The t-shirt, though.”
I don’t really like hats, of any kind. I shave my head and it takes effort, so a hat is like throwing a blanket over a rose bush to me.
I have yet to order. My debit card is poised, however.
Yes, I will vote for Trump, multiple times: once in red states and several times in blue states, because asking for my ID would be RACIST.
GASP!
Trump is a kick in the ass, ain’t he?
Wow.
