Monday, February 21, 2011
Pretzeldentialarianism Day
Liberty Tax Relief, Freedom Tax Refund, Liberty Tax Specialists, American Tax Special Ops, Tricorner Hats Shoot Hessians Dead Tax Masters, just once I'd love to see one of these overnights advertise some truth.
Now You Can Fill Your House With Even More Shit 'Cause You Know You Will (of course I did I'm not only the president I'm also a client & you would too can't surf new porn on old machines, right Windows ME?) Tax Service.
Catchy, no?
If it's blatantly obvious (obviouser than your standard, average, unremarkable normalcy) that my innards aren't in it today, very Holmesian of you. Due to a not-that-violent ice invasion from the north, possibly the work of renegade Scandinavian wizards, power auf wiedersehened for a smidge & writing by candlelight's swankier than the cliché you all assume it is & is. Wish I would've had an inkwell, one of those tricorners & a musket to go with these breeches, though.
Funny how all the faux funny ends up here & not hiding in the lines.
Either pretend creativity is Serious, No-Pay Business or I have an evil twin.
Posted by Randal Graves at 10:19 AM
Labels: arcane rituals, let's go shopping, writing
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9 comments:
The best pretzels are still soft from the oven, don't have too much salt, and receive plenty of mustard.
I want a POTUS like that.
I can't disagree with your culinary assessment, but are you advocating *cannibalism*? Baked, fried, smoked, boiled, sauteed, politicians are much too gamey.
Due to a not-that-violent ice invasion from the north, possibly the work of renegade Scandinavian wizards...
I blame Sarah Palin. And possibly Michele Bachmann, too.
~
I don't know about the culinary delights but why oh why aren't your out there for all those Pretzeldential Day sales? Chinese slave labor is depending on you.
Posting on a Monday??? Oh that's right, Dead Presidents' Day or something.
I have a feeling those two presidents are spinning in their graves 24/7. Maybe they're producing enough energy these days to power Cleveland.
If you aren't writing by the rockets red glare, I don't want to hear it Pilgrim. We are in a war here. Charge that homeless guy for the steam he is leeching from under the streets I own before it wafts into the air I breathe. And if you can't do that, then I want another tax cut to compensate. For I am a real American. I have more money than you.
Okay, so I probably don't, but if I root for them who do have more money than you, maybe they'll let me tag along.
Wishin I was rich is almost like bein rich.
I would like it if on Presidents day we would all eat pretzels and cherry pies and tell no lies. I would prefer that to be a day associated with sales.
if, right, like those chuckleheads are first-class sorceresses.
demeur, I'd had loved to, but I was stuck at work with lead poisoning.
tom, yes, I was "earning" dead pretzeldents. Of course, we don't sell drugs on federal holidays.
susan, it's pretty cold. We should probably line up more corpses. Or build more funeral crematoria.
mrmacrum, do you get a membership card, t-shirt & decoder ring?
LBR, no lies? Gee, why don't you ask us to sprout wings & fly to Alpha Centauri. I like cherry pie & pretzels, though especially on sale.
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