THE BLOG OF ETERNAL STENCH

The delivery guy for the children’s theater I work at probably thinks we’re crazy.

At the top of the month we buy a 6 pack of vodka (to spray costumes) and a 500 pack of condoms (for mic packs).

which is super cool

it makes the costume smell like vodka for like 2 minutes, then no more b.o

just imagine 

     “I got both of them from local shelters. When I got her in 2006, the staff told me she was a shepherd husky. I go to the dog park, I’m meeting people with shepherd husky mixes, and they look nothing like her. I get in my car, I’m driving, I look in the rearview mirror, I see these eyes and I’m like, I’ve got a wolf in my car. Then, when she was 10-months old, there was a shepherd breeder and trainer in the dog park, and at the end of the lesson, the trainer came up to me and asked, ‘What kind of dog is that?’ And I’m thinking, Shepherd husky. You should know, you are a breeder. She said, ‘That’s a wolf.’” 

thebeemonator said:

Robot attempting to blend in to human society, which is made hard because the robot fires his deadly laser cannon whenever it is stressed.

GRANDMA IS SO HARDCORE IM SCREAMING

Nancy’s rage is legendary. The baristas at the coffeeshop on the corner all freeze the moment she walks in, their smiles turning rictus as she rattles off a long and impossibly complicated drinks order. You saw one of the girls ask her for clarification on one of her ingredients, once. A solid hour of screaming and the involvement of three supervisors and the manager later, Nancy walked out with a $50 gift card and the drink she’d ordered. You never saw that girl again.

“Do you know what they put in those things?” Helen asks you, when you ask if her small herd of under-twelves have had their flu shots yet. She’s prepared with a long list of multisyllabic chemicals, which she rattles off like a schoolchild listing the 51 states. You know that most of those chemicals are only traces, and your uncle still walks with a limp from the polio, but you feel a deep, dark dread welling up in your lungs anyway as she drones on hypnotically. Across the aisle in the Whole Foods, her youngest son stares you directly in the eye as he wipes his freely-flowing nose on his sleeve.

Amanda’s been head of the neighbourhood association for as long as anyone can remember, but you hardly ever see her. She’s busy, everyone says, on all sorts of committees, volunteering here and there and everywhere. Making the world a better place, in her own quiet, unassuming way. She comes to your door one afternoon, saying she can’t help but notice your grass is getting a little overgrown. She’s thin, almost gaunt, and you wonder if she’s been following one of Susan’s diet plans. Her face is taut with plastic surgery, skin and dwindling time both stretched out thin, barely covering incredible bone structure.