Friday Ephemera (766)
Scenes of a kind I’m struggling to categorise. || Six Greenlandic ice cubes, only $100. || For the detectives of tomorrow, a crime-scene doll’s house. || That’s exactly how I would’ve done it. || Dressing for pleasure. || Question asked, answered. || Question asked, answered 2. || When you’re an asshole. || Some bending, thumbs up. || The thrills of Portuguese public transport. Previously and related. || And it’s posture-optimised. || Improbable portraiture. || The many penises of the Bayeux Tapestry. || Butterfly repair job. || Lithium brine. || For all you chess enthusiasts. || Quivering meat. || You want one and you know it. || The endless war against chili seeds. || Incoming. || Incoming 2, 3. || Man down. || At last, a gold-melting ATM, for all your ooh-while-we’re-here gold-melting needs.
To enable extra commenting options – including @username mentions, upvotes, and live notifications – scroll down to the black ‘Meta’ box at the very bottom of the page and click register. It’s free and quite painless.
This blog is kept afloat by the tip jar buttons below.
Is this Windermere again?
Is this Windermere again?
We had one of those in a small city in Texas. She would hit fast food joints – go into the ladies room and defecate on the floor, then leave. She hit the one I was working at at least twice, once while I was there, and guess who had to clean it up because none of the kids working there could figure out how to do it without contaminating their meager allotment of brooms and mops. Cardboard boxes in the recycle bin ftw! The cops finally caught her, and if I remember correctly, she was somewhat aged, and had a male partner who drove her around town.
Ahh, the jobs that Starbucks baristas, Walmart cashiers, and University DEI administrators point to when demanding equal pay for equal work.
After all, that milk’s not going to whip itself.
Well as one of the comments on that thread said, “Carly Simon wrote a song about you”.
I assume that’s all her flesh and she came by it naturally. How do you even DO that? Genetics? Partly I guess, but wow. Quite the accomplishment.
My maternal grandfather (b. 1910) was a legendary driver. My uncle said that once he missed his exit on the freeway, so he stopped and backed up the onramp, going the wrong way.
Or he’d be in the market for a new car, so he went up the main street past the car dealerships, and if he saw something that interested him, he’d just stop in the middle of the street, point, and ask his passengers what they thought.
A product of growing up in a rural area, no doubt, before basic auto etiquette was fully developed, and where risky behavior wasn’t a big deal.
I’m assuming it was a one-in-a-million lab mishap on a dark and stormy night.
Those with a taste for jiggling and general enormousness will find much to be enthralled by. More than is strictly necessary, in fact.
The comments seem to indicate that she’s got some takers. Or that there are more ogle-bots online than one would imagine.
We’re venturing outside my area of expertise.
Despite all the gyrations of the hindquarters and all the soapy squeaking, I found myself pondering madam’s knees. I mean, most people have knees that protrude slightly, such that they’re visible. Hers seem to be buried, like piss-holes in deep snow.
If those were visible in the Instagram example, I didn’t see them. Her account is limited to 18 and over, and I’m not on Insta.
[ Refills coffee mug. ]
Speaking of motoring…
There’s angry and then there’s shitting-on-someone’s-car angry.
[ Area of expertise now a tiny speck in rear-view mirror. ]
She could work at a car wash.
[ Mental image intensifies. ]
“No refunds. Credit note only.”
Still laughing at the car wash scenario.
I denounce myself.
There’s a word in this headline doing a lot of work….
I’d have gone with storing.
Most people have knees not intended by Nature’s God to support the weight of a baby rhinoceros.
“Customers are willing to pay extra for drinks that have unique origin stories.”
Decadence?
P. T. Barnum approves.
Speaking of old, this doesn’t read as if written two decades ago.
I come for the poetry.
Hot ass pooping
https://x.com/fopminui/status/1916995814154768807
Hot showers
When I went to boarding school 75 years ago we had hot showers, admittedly only for post-sweaty-sports. For daily ablutions it was a tin bowl at the communal “lav-end” sink and a bath twice a week limited to 5 inches of water ( a wartime restriction extended into peace).
Funny how so many wartime restrictions had very extended lives.
Back in the 90’s some Dutch friends told me that the postwar per capita limits on apartment size were still in effect, which was a problem for bookworms like them.