The return of affordable coffee? This has limited utility for someone like me who visits Starbucks fewer than four times a year and orders venti by reflex, and who knows how long it will last now that they’ve been outed, but still interesting.
What I just realized is that in all my years of amateur adventuring and digging into abandoned and forbidden places–Mayan cities, Montauk Point, various ruins both remote and urban, ancient or merely obsolete–I can’t remember a single time I’ve mistaken a large natural object for an artifact. The reverse, certainly, as nature reclaims all our works sooner or later. But as soon as you recognize an artifact, you know it’s an artifact, no question. If there was anything constructed on Mars, anything just laying about on the surface, it would jump out at us at far less resolution than we’ve already achieved. I think Mars gazers must suffer from a unique brand of synethesia to find patterns in these images.
So when I wasn’t busy cursing the nadir of the Julian calendar yesterday, I was deciding that I absolutely must have one of these.
The Toyota FJs were always cool, if a little too Jeepy, but this thing is like a Mini Cooper on steroids–rubberized and rigged for towing. How much do I want one of these? My brother’s initial response to my palm-rubbing forward of the link echoes my thinking and sums it up nicely: “Is there a limit of one per customer?”
You know what, if you’ve ever known anyone who died, ever, just stop reading, okay?
No, really, stop. I’m warning you.
Seriously. I’m not fucking around here. I know, I always fuck around, you’re waiting for the punch line. There’s no punch line. There’s a punch, yeah, straight to the gut, and like Houdini, you’re not ready for it this one time. I know I wasn’t.
December? Yeah, maybe Jesus got born, maybe, but everyone else fucking died. Fucking December. I think maybe a medically-induced coma is in order. Dramamine for the soul.
I thought it was done. But even in January, you remember December, people still talk about December. Because that’s the month where absolutely everyone gets fucked.
December, I will fucking kill you, as soon as I figure out how.