May 14, 2010
pain and suffering
Slaughterhouse 90210 never fails to disappoint amuse.
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comments:
- Joel Bernstein: I know right?
- Rick Neece: Being nice is a dainty way to put it.
- Rick Neece: Hey Cristopher? Who cried “uncle” first, at the end of your ten-year stand-off? To quote my...
- Michael Smith: Ours is the kitchen.
- Amy Mabli: That’s what happens when you give the dogs the bed.
- Deron Bauman: Sweet Jesus.
- Michael Smith: Don’t we all.
- Pam: I have a story coming out soon in a ‘little mag’, Chicago Quarterly Review. An old friend recently...
- Pam: And I thought, somedays, that my work was meaningless…
- Pam: I remember Eggleston at the Art Institute in Chicago a couple years ago. He was elegantly dressed in a dark suit...
- Christopher Walken: Hey Clusterflockers, Realize y’all are hurting. I’ve been a really close friend of my...
- Marco: This works pretty well in mobile, more so in iOS
- Michael Smith: It was not the intent of management to imply all sissies are “namby pamby”. Management was...
- Rick Neece: I take umbrage with the term “namby pamby.” Some sissies are fierce.
- Carole Corlew: Shelia. Happy no big deal day. I would start your very own post but this phone is in semi rebellion.
I’ve never met anyone with an actual doghouse in their backyard. Are doghouses regional? Or, do people with doghouses only live in the movies?
I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around “never fails to disappoint.”
And, apparently, so must also the really great dogs.
Look at that pup pulling a Snoopy Jr. That melancholy is adorable.
That’s because I meant “amuse.” There was gear slippage, apparently.
It literally never fails to disappoint.
I check it first when I open up my google reader.
And I get sad cause I know where every show still is from.
But not that sad.
I just thought you were being more clever than I could manage to understand. You should have gone with that angle.
I thought about running with it, but honesty always gets the best of me.
Get that boy a shovel and tell him to clean up all the dogshit in the yard if he’s so goddamned bored and miserable. Oh, and somebody tell him he doesn’t have a large intelligence and a deep heart because he’s sad.
Good grief!
Seriously, does anybody know anyone with a doghouse?
I built a big doghouse once that had two rooms and a covered porch. Then a flood came and washed it away (the dogs survived). It wouldn’t have worked too well as an Ark. When we moved to our present house I built a shed in back with a kind of dog door leading into it–into an enclosed section, that is; I didn’t want the dogs drinking paint and chewing electric cords.
Michael, yes–there are lots of dog houses in Texas.
sorry–that last one was from me.
Daryl, why the hell would you be commenting under my name when I’m at work and you’re at home?
Daryl built the big doghouse. I have never built anything.
Okay, shit–the one before the last one.
If you’d just remember who the hell you are, we wouldn’t have this problem.
Well fuck me swingin. Why does this computer jump in there and put you back in when I have been commenting on it in my name? Jesus.
where am I…what…is this thing on?
Seems pretty obvious, doesn’t it?
I remember the Ark doghouse. You have actually built two doghouses. Remember Toby’s original doghouse? The one he used to fill with all his worldly possessions (consisting of sticks, rocks, and the rubber squeaky newspaper).
Did he use duct tape?
Poor, sweet Toby. He was both deaf and stupid, but he loved having a doghouse in the backyard.
Most likely. I think it was the white kind.
He also liked eating the air conditioning lines, as I recall. He was a good dog.
I don’t think duct tape was involved in the doghouses. That was back when Daryl actually seemed to know how to do a few things.
Flannery! Yes, I remember that doghouse–but I didn’t build it; we got it from that person–Jodie, was it?–the one who had that dog that would suddenly blaze past the hallway opening and back again when we went to dinner there once (and only once). i don’t know why I’m typing this because your mama types faster and knows what I would say anyway, but what the fuck.
I’m the only non-Scroggins on the internet right now. It seems.
But who knows, all those comments could be Daryl trying to figure out who is.
So Toby was deaf and stupid, and our other dog, Fritzy, was smarter than a dog should be, and Fritzy was forever frustrated by Toby’s stupidity. Fritzy would bark and snarl at Toby for being stupid, and Toby would watch him and wag his tail and make faces back at Fritzy, mimicking the snarly faces Fritzy was making. Really, if ever a dog should have been allowed to become an alcoholic, it was Fritzy. Kind of like Bryan on Family Guy.
I know how to do lots of things but they are now all part of getting in touch with myself.
Yes, Michael, we are like the Hunt brothers and Silver at the moment.
Oh, I got your voicemail. I’m going to that estate sale tomorrow to buy all the birdcages. That guy was creepy and old; I can’t wait to rehome some of his creepy, old possessions. Speaking of Toby, that guy used to have a bunch of “No Dogs Allowed” signs in his yard, and I remember us letting Toby shit in his yard every time we took him for a walk.
This is my little family.
Did you enjoy your Mother’s Day gifts?
Oh yeah. And Toby would do it like he did: hike his leg to pee and poop instead. That kind of makes it better when it’s in front of cat-trapper’s house.
I just realized, poor Andrew is probably getting an email a minute of you guys talking about…well whatever.
I’m so glad I commented on this post. Having this conversation emailed to me piece by piece has made my day!
Yes! They are wonderful! An autographed portrait “for Cindy” from Julian Sands, a stigmata beer bottle opener, and several beautiful glass coasters with painted cakes on them. What could be better?
I hear Julian Sands is a big deal these days. But he loves me. He and Bill Murray.
I wonder if he kept cats in the birdcages?
He looks a lot like that guy slouching around there. Hi Andrew!
Oh, yeah, that bird man used to trap and kill cats. Very bad. He’s dead now, though.
Hi, Andrew.
And Cory M. apparently.
This is kind of like being invited to a family dinner and having no idea what’s going on as you shovel in mashed potatoes.
Fantastic potatoes, by the way.
He’s dead, and I will finally have the 4 ft tall iron birdcage I’ve been wanting for so long. So, it all works out in the end.
You’ve never eaten dinner with my parents and me. This is how it is. Poor Ryan is on the other side of the table, shoveling in mashed potatoes as it were.
He used to keep a 3rd story window open all the time for the pigeons to fly in and out of. I bet he has shit for an attic. Well, had.
Yeah, but you might be too late. That’s the bad thing about working–estate sales begin on Thursday. And for all we know, he was buried in that big birdcage.
Pass the peas.
This is what I’m saying.
Could you pass the butter?
Way to piss on my parade, Mother. Fuck it, I’m leaving work early and heading to bird-man’s house.
Hot mashed potatoes. Lots of pepper(s).
Wait– will a 4 ft iron birdcage fit into a BMW? Let’s hope.
Then again, I guess I could walk home with it.
I’ll bring the Radio Flyer.
This seems like a good place to recall Aaron’s wonderful description: “He looks like he’s about two Christmases away from blowing his head off.”
We don’t got no truck.
You know, when my mom first opened her store, we hosted estate sales for people – it’s a weird thing, categorizing and pricing someone’s whole life.
This one house was so coated with cigarette residue that your hands would be sticky and yellow after an hour of sorting things that had been in drawers.
As far as I can remember they didn’t have any birdcages so I can’t say how fast it might go.
I collect birdcages. I put bird skulls in them. I am my mother’s daughter.
Well, Michael, let’s just sit here and enjoy our lemon pie and wait to hear how it goes.
I do love me some dead birds.
Don’t forget the coconut ice cream
They did have a collection of old lighters and I think my mom still has most of them in her display case at the store. They were all missing the flint, so they weren’t even fun to play with.
No ice cream for me, thank you.
I thought you were on your way to the estate sale.
Cory, how do you feel about coconut ice cream?
Oh Jesus–brownwallstink. Cindy and I saw a lot of that when we went to estate sales. And then there are the ones where the relatives are trying to sell everything at a price that marks them as terminally deprived. Nice potty chair for an old lady: $100. Nice walker with cable/lever brakes: $250. But then there’s something like an “ugly old (Roman Glass) vase”: $2.
Receiving email about people talking about whatever is pretty much an occupational hazard of being on clusterflock. I just don’t turn on push notification for my iPhone is all.
Andrew, pie?
Daryl, see we did everything, inventory, pricing, nobody tried to tell us anything about a $100 potty chair.
Mostly it was just sad. Sometimes we’d come across personal things and wonder why the family hadn’t kept it.
But we’re talking about bird cages and mashed potatoes.
Best find at an estate sale: a 100 foot roll of 4′ hog wire, and a 50 foot roll of 3′ rabbit wire: $5 each. I still have a lot of it. I can make some damn birdcages.
Michael, I know people who do estate sales, and I couldn’t do it. Mostly because it’s too sad, combined with the hugeness of the job. I just don’t have the patience or the will or the anything. I’d end up taking it all to the pussy dump.
I prefer Stephen Colbert’s “Ameri-cone Dream” ice cream.
Could I have some of those mashed potatoes with peppers? That sounds awesome.
You invite people into your home and they get all picky on you.
But, sure, you can have some potatoes.
At least you didn’t agree to taste the coconut ice cream and spit it into the sink.
Once Renner ate Mexican food at our house and spent lots of time in the bathroom.
We took a fair share to dump, and my mom had to put a dishwasher in her store so she could wash all the stuff once we took it in. It was a pretty good deal for them as they got started. We’d do the sale and have all the information about the store out and then, after the 3 or 4 days we’d pack everything that didn’t sell up and bring it into the shop and use it as inventory.
It’s a consignment store, so we’d just open an account for the family and put it out.
Michael: I have similar feelings about estate sales–see here: http://www.amarillobay.org/contents/scroggins-daryl/fim-making-techniques.htm
Poor Amarillo Bay will wonder what the fuck just happened.
yes. i was the stranger eating pizza.
Cory–what you need is some of Cindy’s Chipotle mashed sweet potatoes. Damn. All sweet and smoky.
Next time I’m over would you make some of those?
Sure.
Wow. Can I have some? I’ll bring the coconut ice cream.
Okay I’m getting hungry. Sun-dried tomato pesto; brown rice with roasted pine nuts, grilled corn, green onions, and cilantro in it; ancho sauce enchiladas made with sharp Irish cheddar…and we haven’t even mentioned the drinks yet.
You’re cooking that, Daryl?
Got stuff chopped up for you!
uh-huh
I don’t understand what the pesto has to do with the rest of the meal. Anyway, I’m full, thanks.
I guess Flannery’s at the estate sale.
Okay–I’m giddy. I just turned in grades for all four courses, and it’s summer now for me! Boo-yahhhh.
Great! How wonderful that Michael, Cory and Flannery are with us–time to bring out the champagne!
cheers!
It’s also Kelsey’s last day at her job. She’s visiting tomorrow.
Here’s a toast to Kelsey!
I heard a pop, what’s going on…
I don’t know, we’re drunk.
this is a good thread. I shit in the coconut.
Hey, is Flannery back? Did she get that bird cage?
I’m back. No birdcage (the big one sold yesterday), but I loaded up on milkglass, apothecary jars and extremely sad Christmas decorations.
The guy has an aviary in his back yard full of pigeons and doves. The ladies running the sale tried to get me to take some home, but I had to decline on account of the dogs. In all, I’d call this one a success. Ryan was mildly horrified.
git any wire? I can make you a dang o birdcage, any size. Maybe we could spray paint it golden.
Could we “antique it”?
[...] Flannery Scroggins: Oh, I got your voicemail. I’m going to that estate sale tomorrow to buy all the birdcages. That guy was creepy and old; I can’t wait to rehome some of his creepy, old possessions. Speaking of Toby, that guy used to have a bunch of “No Dogs Allowed” signs in his yard, and I remember us letting Toby shit in his yard every time we took him for a walk. [...]
I was going to go to bed, but, I read this and now it’s almost too late.
You Scroggins’s rock my world. Michael Smith as the “straight-man,” makes it all the better.
Oh, Phil, darlin, I’m sorry. Just close your eyes, lie very still, and think sweet thoughts. You’ll be asleep in no time.
Cindy, I may sleep with my adding the 100th comment.
Talk of birdcages had me searching for all manner of odd stuff on ebay and I found it.
Dalmatians.
So sorry about the birdcage, Flannery. Dinner was fantastic, thanks for having me.
Aw, Flannery, hon. I could have shipped you boxes and boxes of milk glass, as well as of, well, moderately sad Christmas decorations.