someone has sewed old bug's tiny blue marble head onto the loose neckskin of his squeaky body.
terrified, that's what i'm not. please.
first of all, zombie week was last week. if you tuned in once in awhile old flug bug, you'd be aware of these particulars. if you are instead sneaking around with a skimask shrouding your stupid non-posting face- i'm not shaking in my boots.
and neither is vander. that woman is fixated on the issues. if i crane my neck i can see her in her office lovingly combing the fake hair of one of her porcelain dolls. yesterday i watched her talk to a caterpillar on the other side of her window for thirty minutes. she was telling it to jump. she even made little signs that said "jump!" and "no one loves you"... terrible.
and one note regarding security here at buckman- everybody knows the 23rd floor, a meager 6 floors from us, is haunted incessantly by the lost souls of suicidal 1930s wall street failures. there's broken glass everywhere up there, and the torn linen curtains, (which i've always thought was a decorating mistake) never stop blowing in the ghoulish winter winds. so, whatever with your terrifying account of dildoes, you weird fuck. i stayed late to finish a column earlier this year, and could barely hear myself think over the agonizing screams of the miserable dead; i doubt your cat burgler, screwdriver window opening, tip-toeing in footies style would cause an instant of notice.
so, back to my post.
my god, back to the intent of this misguided blog- product review and consumer advocacy.
today i'm looking at shotguns.
i will title the post "bang for your buck" and snicker to myself at how clever i am.
but first i'm going to stir the oil warming in the cauldron near my window; i don't want to scorch it.