Nulla dies sine linea. Four sentences every day. About whatever happened that day. Like a diary, only shorter.
I got the idea for this blog from sitting at work and looking at James Kochalak's truly awesome American Elf comic. New here? Leave a comment!
May 30, 2008
5-29-08 Wherein I ask the eternal question, "Bitch, where's my money?"
Where does the money go?
Where does it go?
I put money into the bank and find out it's already spent, and I don't have anything to show for it.
Well, you see every night a cabal of bankers get together in the catacombs underneath the city -- I think it's a series of tunnels snaking out from the closed-up subway stops.
Anyway, they draw a big pentagram in the same ink that's used to print our money -- a big vat of it arrives from the Mint every Thursday -- and proceed to feed each other bills, coins, and certificates into every orifice until they're bloated and vomiting pure silver out of their noses.
And they just laugh and laugh . . . it's a jolly little ceremony, really.
I still must remark that those pig-raping sons of prostitutes are in direct collusion with my own worst instincts to relieve me of my money. And I let them do it.
2 comments:
Well, you see every night a cabal of bankers get together in the catacombs underneath the city -- I think it's a series of tunnels snaking out from the closed-up subway stops.
Anyway, they draw a big pentagram in the same ink that's used to print our money -- a big vat of it arrives from the Mint every Thursday -- and proceed to feed each other bills, coins, and certificates into every orifice until they're bloated and vomiting pure silver out of their noses.
And they just laugh and laugh . . . it's a jolly little ceremony, really.
It is all so very jolly, to be sure.
I still must remark that those pig-raping sons of prostitutes are in direct collusion with my own worst instincts to relieve me of my money. And I let them do it.
Bastards.
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