The Universe within 1 billion Light Years
Middle-aged Long Island lady thumbing through magazine: Look, there's Stephen Colbert.
Husband: Who's that?
Middle-aged Long Island lady: He's a terrific Republican reporter on TV. You should watch him. He's really great. Puts the liberals in their place.
Guy #1: Dude, are you okay? You look exhausted.
Guy #2: I am. My life is so weird right now.
Guy #1: Still working on the divorce?
Guy #2: That's pretty much finalized, actually. It's this girl I started seeing last week.
Guy #1: Wait, you're dating that hot Russian chick?
Guy #2: Yeah, Svetlana*. She's a total nympho -- I haven't slept in days. She won't leave my crotch alone. Plus, whenever we're going at it she keeps calling me 'Master.' It's fucked up.
Guy #1: You just lost any chance at sympathy, asshole.
Overheard in New York
I dreamed I was on a group mission to intercept a truckload of marzipan from getting to a woman named Damascus. There was a samurai sword fight and a train involved, and the worst part, a catchy theme song that described our entire mission in about fifteen words. I'm glad I finally woke up, because dreams with their own theme songs make me feel insane. It's nice I'm getting back to work today on watches after what seemed like a long break. Wednesday we shut off the cable, Friday we drive away to our new lives in Florida. I have intentionally not seen the Al Gore movie about global warming, because I get the feeling it would make me want to buy a house on top of a mountain in Colorado, and I already suffered as only impending apocalypse can make you suffer after reading the oil we eat in February 2004. I recall the subsequent six to ten months seeming dimly lit.
(Marzipan is thought to have originated in Syria, by the way, that or two other places. I'd like to see people arguing over this.)
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