Dear Mom,

I love you. You raised me. You are a divine human being.

But please don't leave me voicemails that are 1 minute and 27 seconds long.

Your loving son,
P

No Locks?

Oh B&B's ... you are quaint.
Roaring fires when you walk in the doors ... hot chocolate in mugs waiting for chilly visitors ... even a friendly cat named Mr. Mittensface - but no LOCKS on the doors?
What is this? A hippie commune?
I mean I can lock myself IN ... but when I leave am I going to come back to Jonah the innkeeper wearing my dress and heels blogging on the TUP?!?

The real Virginia is frightening ... I want to go back to D.C. where paranoia and mistrust of my neighbor is as American as apple pie.

This time I mean it. Tighten Up Your Mouth.

Last year, I posted that I wanted the people in my tiny tiny tiny work space not to talk about babies. I'm amending this now.

I want them to stop talking all together because they have nothing to say.

HEY HEY HEY You ... guy ... you have said that "quip" eight times ... still not funny.
You - girl - you sound like the female equivalent of Animal from The Muppets when you talk. Thank god you do not have a drum set at work.

Notice how EVERYONE IS QUIET?! EVERYONE? You have secretly wanted to be cool and like everyone else your entire life ... Now's your chance!

You - other girl - if your cell phone has more than one ring - it has a vibrate function.
USE IT.

So. Angry. Tighten. Up.

Loose

The monster truck establishment must tighten!

As two recent articles attest, the monster truck establishment is being shaken to its core by a spate of monster truck-related deaths, prompting some to wonder about the future of the psuedo-sport.

On Monday, 19 January, stuff.co.nz reported that
"Flying debris at a monster truck rally in Washington [State] has killed a six-year-old boy who was sitting in the crowded grandstand with his family."

And just this morning, the Wisconsin State Journal reported that George Eisenhart--a promoter of Monster Truck events--was killed after stepping into the path of one of the thundering beasts. "He was pronounced dead two hours later at Univeristy of Wisconsin Hospital of major, "crushing" internal injuries, Coroner John Stanley said." (tighten-within-a-tighten goes to the Coroner for the insensitive use of the term "crushing")

The Monster Truck establishment must tighten its safety regulations and enforcement to prevent any such future accidents. The delicious nomenclature is slipping away from us that allows Gravedigger (see photo, above) to be celebrated with no connotation of morbidity--and when it is gone, so will be our beloved smashtrucks.

=========

UPDATE: The newsreel!

Dear tourists: Thanks for the money. Now GO THE FUCK HOME.

Dear throngs of tourists,

In case you haven’t noticed (or in case you were just among the thousands who missed it through no fault of your own… Bahahaha!), the inauguration of President Barack Obama is over. It was Tuesday, in fact. And today it’s Friday. Yet, incredibly, many of you are here. This is not working out for us.

You see, we actually have work to do. We also had work to do on Monday and Tuesday, but we couldn’t get it done because, well, of you. So it’s now Friday, and it feels like a Wednesday productivity-wise, but the second consecutive Saturday we’ve had to work energy-wise, and yet… you see where I’m going with this.

And now, on this busy day for us, you’re still everywhere. Still completely unsure how to use the world’s easiest public transit system, still unable to get our of your own – let alone our – way, seemingly unable to walk in a straight line anywhere, still taking our tables at restaurants and bars, and still running red lights, turning the wrong way down one way streets and nearly killing us in crosswalks, all while talking on your cell phones and trolling for parking spaces that – if they exist – are ours.

I’m starting to realize why God felt the need to wipe out New Orleans. Hint: it had nothing to do with the locals (watch out Disney!).

AND we were exceedingly nice to you. We did not rob, stab, beat, shoot or rape you. We did not kidnap your children for ransom (in many respects because we kinda felt bad enough for them – seriously, 12 hours in below-freezing weather? I mean, THAT’s kidnapping if not straight up child abuse. Jesus.), intentionally give you wrong directions, or lie to you about how miserable much of your experience was going to be.

And this is how you repay us; by STAYING for a few more days. If we weren’t so sleep deprived we’d probably devise a scheme to have Obama have to be re-inaugurated, too, get you back down there and then just light the Mall on fire. So, for both our sakes, go home please. It’s time. Go back to Applebees, and take your Starter jackets and your Big Ten sweatshirts with you. Let us have our city back. We’d threaten to descend upon yours and return the favor but, let’s face it, there’s no fucking way we’d ever spend ANY time there beyond the three-hour layover we’re forced to take on flights to Vegas.

Yours, Dick Whitman

To all Tighteners Up:

Friends, Tighteners, the time has come. The Report has sat neglected, vacant, unused, and unread for too long. I salute the few who have strung our existence along from month to month, not letting the dream die, not letting crimes against tightness go untightened.

Failblog's meteoric rise has proven that the world is hungry for images and movies of failure, of wiffle balls to the crotch, of spectacular automotive accidents, falls, miscommunications, and hubris. Our narrative shall rise again.

Tighteners, it is time that we tightened by tightening anew. I implore you: take up your qwerty, your cellphone camera and your quip, and let us resurrect the Report.

Yours in Tightness,
The Pepper

Don't know how you DUE, the VOODUE, that you DUE so well...makes me wanna shoop!

GRAMMAR TIGHTEN: The people vs. Mc Donalds

Charged with: Crimes against the English language

Sentenced to: Deep fryer

This sign appeared in every window and every door of McD's Rhode Island NE DC location. "I'm lovin' it!"

ECO FAIL. Hippie Dippy Hybrid Bullshit at Tyson's Corner

During a rare visit to Tyson's Corner Mall this month, I stumbled upon a legitimate reason to hate the favored stomping grounds of DC's bridge and tunnel folk: hybrid parking.

This row of "preferred parking" is aligned and in some cases, closer to the mall than Tyson's handicapped parking spots. This moronic attempt at eco-sensitivity is wrong. So. Wrong.


Let me count the ways...

1) 'Hybrid' and 'efficiency' are not synonymous. While the Lexus RX 400h (hybrid) seats five with 24/27 MPG, non-hybrid five-seaters such as the Ford Focus (24/33), Honda Civic (24/36) and Chevy Cobalt 24/33 all exceed the average MPG of the hybrid Lexus.


2) HOV. Remember the old concept of high-occupancy vehicles? Four shoppers in a Range Rover are actually more efficient per passenger than one person in any hybrid.


3) Discriminatory. Hybrids aren't cheap. The compact Toyota Prius h stickers for around $24,000 - a price well out of reach for the average American with bragging rights to a median individual income of a whopping $26,000/year.


4) Counterproductive. "Hey Tyson's, if you are so concerned about the environment then why prolong the time a 'gas guzzler' drives around your garages in search of parking?"


5) Cut off your nose. Lastly, according to Tyson's signs, should some rebellious non-hybrid vehicle park in their preferred spots, the mall will enforce towing. "Ah yes, nothing will teach those eco-ignorant patrons a lesson in gas conservation like sending Captain Planet's whip of choice: the tow truck (8-11 MPG) to haul your parked pollutant away."


ECO FAIL. Tighten up you ignorant ass clowns.