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Thursday 2/29/24

Whistlers. Unless you're Otis Redding at the end of ("Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay," no one wants to hear you.

There are horn people and non-horn people. Horn people use their horn liberally when there's no need to. I wouldn't oppose horn people having their horn-hand lopped off.

I will always root for car thieves against car alarms. If I went outside after a car alarm had been going for five minutes and saw a car thief finally opening the door and getting in, I would give him a sign--which would probably just be a raised fist--intended to convey, "Ride well."

The bell-shaped man--the bottom of his shirt flares out from his stomach--who is probably ten years younger than I am but looks twelve years older and smokes in front of my building having walked across the street from his. Is it impossible for you to exercise a single time? Have one salad in your life? Smoke on your own side of the street? I glare at him with the intensity of hot death when I see him, and each time his eyes go straight to the ground the moment his eyes meet mine.

Those who conduct conversations in the hallway about absolute fuck all that go on and on.

Door slammers like the insipid women across the hall from me.

A vaporizing gun ought to be invented to deal with dogs whose owners can't get them to shut up or just don't care. The dog goes on for a certain amount of time or number of barks, and you get to legally vaporize it. Where does it go? It's not dead. Can't have it be dead. People wouldn't stand for that. But let's say there's another dimension and it's exiled there via the vaporization-gun process for the rest of its natural life to howl its head off. Go ahead, howl, asshole. So I guess that other dimension would need to be invented, too.

I understand some people would think this goes too far. I would counter that it doesn't go far enough.


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