Books. Bikes. Boomsticks.
Self-Checkout aisles are like wheelchair ramps for introverts.
Oh. I certainly hope he meant to do that. And not, you know, having assembled it for the Science Fair or Medieval Daze or the neighbor's cat, just had to see what the blade looked like from Danton's point of view. Because that would be, well, too goddamn Melvindale for words.
comatus, are you a Downriver rat? I grew up in Allen park.
td, WAY down...about 50 miles.South Detroit, Ohio.
Wow. I'm suddenly put in mind of the song "The Ballad of James Moon" by Michael Longcor. I'll see if I can dig up the lyrics short of going home, digging out the CD and transcribing them myself.You'd probably like his stuff.
Isn't Longcor the one who did "Truck Drivin' Vampire"? If so, he's a hoot.
That's the guy. He's really nice guy. If you are even vaguely aware of the SCA then his talking/singing bit about Pennsic War IV is the funniest thing ever."We were taking lightning strikes within 100 yards of the camp. It was relatively exciting. If you don't think so, you try running through a lightning storm wearing a metal suit."
Here you go. He claims the events of this song are 100% true according to every bit of historical record he can dig up. It may not look that great with the line breaks and width restriction of Blogger. Good CD too. Worth if for this track, "Truck Driving Vampire", "Pennsic War IV" and other great songs.The Ballad of James A. Moon(c) Michael LongcorFrom the CD "Kitchen Junk Drawer."James Moon was Indiana born and Indiana bredand he farmed outside Lafayette to earn his daily bread.He built himself a smithy and he learned the blacksmith's tradeand he dreamed up an invention, the strangest ever made.The year was 1876, the summer month of JuneWhen an urge for termination laid itself on James A. MoonHe packed up screws and hardware and some tools and rope and woodthen drove his rig to Lafayette to prove his scheme was good.He checked into the old Lar House, that fancy big hoteland rented number 41, a room he liked quite well.James walked to Beech's Hardware, so Isaac Beech has saidand bought himself a sharp new shiny 12 inch broad axe head.He went to Harding's Foundery and he lugged along the blade.He told the clerk he wanted special modifications made.That holes be drilled and boiler plate be bolted to the head."I'm inventing a device to make fruit baskets, sir." he said.He hiked off to the barber shop and had his beard shaved clean.The better for to carry out his strange and morbid scheme.He ambled to the drugstore, that summer's day so warmand purchased cotton batting and a vial of chloroform.He gathered up his purchases and packed them in his trunk.Along with cord and tools and wood and all the other junk.He needed help to move it so he commandeered a pairof wheezing hotel porters to manhandle it upstairs.His errands done he tidied up, stepped out and locked his door.Then he looked up friends he'd served beside throughout the civil war.He swapped some tales and sang some songs and raised a glass or fiveAnd that evening was the last time he was seen on earth alive.Next morning Bridgette Cloghan went to clean room 41.There was no answer to her knock, at noon there still was none.By 5pm she wondered if she'd better call the law,so she went in through room 40, and she screamed at what she saw.A salesman from Ohio and Hank Tinny heard the shriekthey rushed up to the room and what they saw there made them weakthe room door gaping open and poor Bridgette in a swoonand a spattered, bloody broadaxe blade bisecting James A MoonOld James had nailed the boards into a six foot floor hinge beamat the end of which he'd bolted on that weighted axe blade keenheld up with that slim piece of cord till a candle burned it throughHe laid his neck at the business end and he bid this world adieuJames A. Moon was sure the thing would work without a hitchSo he'd even gone and written a post-mortem salesman's pitchOn the rough planks of that chopper's arm, he'd scrawled before he wentthe words "Patent applied for." And the phrase "For sale or rent."James Moon he built a gadget like the world had never seenAnd he ranks with Jack Kervorkian, and old Dr. GuillotineYou can talk assorted suicides, and their schemes both great and smallBut that strange device of James A. Moon, no doubt e'clips them all.
Razors pain you,Rivers are damp,Acids stain youAnd pills cause cramp.Guns aren't lawful,Nooses give,Gas smells awful--You might as well live.-Dorothy Parker
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