Sunday, January 30, 2005

Buffalo wings, frozen pizza, peas, and pie crusts, as far as the eye can see. Giant glass jars of mayonnaise and mustard. Cartons of instant noodles, bundled lovingly in plastic wrap; no fewer than thirty packs to a set. Boxes promising sixty miniature quiche pies -- sixty! Stacks and stacks and stacks of Spam, gleaming cans of tightly sealed mystery. Families wandering slack-jawed and glazed-eyed, in marvel and wonder.

Wholesale goods. The air fairly reeked of consumption and gross excess. 

I nearly broke into a dance in glee.

posted at 6:06:36 pm

January 31, 2005   03:19 PM PST
I hardly have to worry about such an eventuality--my geeky physique would almost certainly earn me a 4F.
January 30, 2005   11:26 PM PST
You speak scornfully now, but when a gay bomb saves your ass (as in rendering your opponents gay and not your compatriots, since your ass would quite un-saved in that case), you'll be sorry.
January 30, 2005   08:51 PM PST
January 30, 2005   07:41 PM PST
'Mystery' is right. It's a mystery why the FDA allows Hormal to distribute the stuff. And why DARPA is throwing so much money at "gay bombs" when the most effective weapon known to man is practically right before their eyes.
January 30, 2005   06:37 PM PST
My want.

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Glo'ri'a'na, noun:
1. An alternative form of "Gloria."
2. As "Americana" defines itself as artefacts of American culture, "Gloriana" consists of the artefacts of my culture.


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