Archive for the ‘Luc Reid’ Category
Government-Ordered Ad Disclaimers After the Anti-Consumerism Coup of 2028
Friday, February 12th, 2010
Sliggers! by Gamesaplenty may or may not be fun for the whole family. Your family may contain members who are brain damaged, infantile, incapable of following the very easy instructions, or who simply do not like fun. Alternatively, your family may have tastes in fun that are far too sophisticated to allow enjoying our game, which is after all just a holographic knock-off of Parcheesi tarted up with slightly eroticized dancing foxes. Gamesaplenty takes no responsibility for the inability to play or transcendence of our game by members of your family or by anyone else.
Neither the new 2029 Ford Curfew nor any other vehicle currently on the market will change everything.
Liteline products will only help you lose weight if you reduce calorie intake and exercise more–and if you do that, you’ll lose weight anyway. Liteline products will not in and of themselves give you new confidence. If you actually do lose the weight, you will still not look like the models in the Liteline commercials.
Tastiness and expeditiousness have been reliably identified as characteristics of Powermilk Biscuits in double blind research (2021, 2027).
FDA studies have concluded that there is no Coke side of life. Coke does not make anything real and is not itself real. Due to occasional instances of improper bottling and/or counterfeiting, it is not even always Coca-Cola. While it is true that you can’t beat the real thing, as established above, that thing is not Coke. The feeling is sometimes mildly pleasureable but can be beaten fairly easy, e.g., by playing Sliggers! (by some members of the family only). America does have a real choice, but Coke is not it. Coke cannot be had with a smile without spilling. Measures of life before and after drinking Coke indicate that Coke does not add any.
The Wolf at My Door
Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010
We’ve gotten into a kind of rhythm, the wolf and I. I go sit outside the back door in an old kitchen chair, watching the dark shadows of the trees shiver in the wind when the moon shows them out. After a while–sometimes right away, sometimes not for hours–she comes up quietly and curls up a few feet away, watching the trees with me, and the stars beyond, and the moon setting. I sometimes fall asleep and wake up chilled and full to the brim with starlight, but if she begins nodding off she gets up and trots back into the darkness, to some hidden place she has there.
For a week or so I was sick and couldn’t stay outside for the coughing, so I left the door wide open and hoped she’d come inside. Several times that week she sat just outside the door, waiting for me. Sometimes she’d even come up and look in, and then she’d see me, and seem to be satisfied, and turn and go. She wouldn’t come into the house, though, not even when I shambled out of bed one still afternoon and took the front door right off the hinges to show her I wouldn’t close it on her. Maybe wolves never come indoors. Maybe they do, but just not at first.
I’ll keep leaving it open, just in case.