Hello! I am on the Internet!

I guess you will be hiring some AMAZING audio specialists. You know, they all use PC’s and LOVE Internet Explorer. Also, they REALLY LOVE being told what browser to use. Once I’m hired can you tell me at exactly what angle I should urinate into the coffee pot?

EASE stands for Employees All Something Whatever Because We Arn’t Filling This Position Anyway.

Also, “utilize” is douchebag for “use” because I know not all of you can read douchebag.

ALSO your passive-voice makes me want to cockpunch a baby kitten.

Ready to work!

The man works on our 1940’s piano for an hour. It sounds a lot better. When he is done, he calls me in to play it. I play it and ask a few questions. It’s old and makes some weird sounds that would require some extensive repair. Nothing major though.

After he asks me about my life. He eyes my saxophones and says, “Would you mind playing for me?”

So I get one out and play a few bars of Georgia on My Mind. I’m a classical musician mostly, but I can get around the changes for Georgia. He smiles.

After that we walk about my life and my fiancée. He packs up his gear and prepares to leave. I ask him for the total. He says, “I have been very blessed in my life. I am now in the business of giving back to people who are just starting. Your playing was a payment in return for my service.” Then, through my protests, he put on his shoes and left.

I wish I played better.

Change I want to kick in the nuts.

At 10:00am a thin, middle-aged man walked by my large window and turned to enter my apartment building. “Who the hell are you?” I thought.

My apartment intercom buzzes. I hesitantly walk out to see what the serial killer wants. I open the door just a crack. He smiles and says, “Hello Tim.” Fuck! He knows my name.

Just as I am about to slam the door and call the cops he senses my nervousness and says the magic words, “I’m here to tune your piano.”

I need to stop watching CSI I think.

The Enamored Whale Letterpress by acerriteno

Yes.

slaughterhouse90210:

“Let me tell you, that idiot ex-cocaine-addict was never a cowboy. He can wear all the cowboy hats he wants. He’s a spoiled brat to the manor born. And he makes me puke.”

—Elizabeth Strout, Olive Kitteridge

Sweet Merciful Jesus

If you know me, you know what happens next.

nicky36:

My husband’s comment on his pumpkin, “I don’t like to throw around the word ‘genius,’ but…”

This was my 1,000th liked post.

I have no regrets.

by Natalie Dee

Brad Mehldau Trio - Knives Out

Wow. Merriam-Webster looks nice on the iPhone.

ronbailey:

nevver:

Falcon has landed.

As noted by Nostrich, a few seconds with a calculator would have told anyone with a curious mind that there wasn’t a 40 lb little boy in that balloon last week.

Science and Math education fail.

Purchased.

I bet you will never guess what this lady wants to sell you.

Charles Ives, age 69, suffering from diabetes, impaired by multiple heart attacks and probable strokes, singing his ass off.

The song is They are There. The text is here.