Really? A guy with nails through his wrists dangling from a plank? Who made your religion, Clive Barker? This is something out of Hellraiser. Stop putting this everywhere and stop thinking other religions are weird because really yours takes the cake.

I’m middle age, fine, whatever. And I don’t have kids, at least not yet, if ever. Just when I think I want kids I hear some kid scream so loud in a restaurant it’s like a plate of steaming red hot fajitas fell on his face and then I turn around and see he’s just being a tired little shit and that makes me not want to have kids again. But then I see a tender moment, and I don’t mean the kind where a dad carries his kid around like Auntie Ndugu would in a hut with a pouch around his waist. I swear to god I think parents see kids like accessories. Like let’s top off the Patagonia vest jacket and vintage cords with a beautiful white baby slung on my hip. Or maybe it’s because I lived in Santa Monica for so long. Who knows. Anyway point is kids are fine, the thought of kids are fine but then I get to thinking about travel plans. Like how in God’s name could I travel with one? How miserable is that? I want to relax, see some sights, not be loaded down with a mobile Kids R Us station, plastic toys and formula and diarrhea, like that sounds like it could fuck up a nice vacation is all I’m saying. And the MONEY? Are you kidding me I make decent money and I can barely and I mean barely take care of myself. I walk into Design Within Reach and I feel like my god even if I made a MILLION dollars a year I couldn’t afford that shelf or that weird uncomfortable set of cow chairs. I’m digressing. Point is everyone at work has these horrible kid drawings everywhere. I mean they’re not even in the slightest talented kids. Words going everywhere and spelled wrong and dogs that look like trees. So I figured y’know what? Ok fuckers I have kids too, and here are the drawings they made me. So I put these up.

Silly me, Abercrombie and Fitch. I thought getting past the stench of your two dollar cologne fog machines would be enough of an obstacle to purchasing your overpriced thick-fabric’ed (fabricked?) moosewear but evidently not. Evidently putting a f*cking bench in the fitting room is too much to ask because who really needs a bench in that giant space that otherwise has nothing in it, I’m sure your customers would much rather put their items directly on the concrete floor that’s probably littered with pubes. No I didn’t buy anything.

Can’t I just sip my five dollar Thieving Magpie latte in peace? Why must you stare at me? I’ve told you my black shoelaces don’t know anything. They’re not talking. And my skinny jeans made out of rough dyed hemp from a blacksmith’s shop aren’t saying anything either. So stop asking them questions. We’re pondering ok? Do we go out front and smoke a cigarette with arm extended propped underneath by other arm or do we go to the bathroom and reposition extra big hat so it almost falls off head but not enough that greasy hair strands don’t get a chance to come out? We just don’t know. Maybe it’s a PS3 Killzone 3 bong day. Have you seen smelly leather jacket? I think my roommate took it.

That motherfucker. I’m going to read him poetry when he comes home and leave all my clothes on. That should teach him.

What was that? Did you just ask me about our home theater systems? Yeah I can help you. I’m pretty sure the two hour video I sort of watched when I was hired explained that. It’s just my manager is off duty and I’m covering this station so I can’t leave it not even for the bathroom. But I’d really like to help you otherwise. Have you seen my boyfriend anywhere? He works in the back, in stocking. He was supposed to stop by two hours ago with some Vicodin. Doesn’t matter. What’s that? Coaxial cables? Yeah of course I know what those are you need them for your telephone. But we’re out of telephones. You know what if you see Johnny tell him I don’t need his stupid Vicodin there’s a girl in plasmas that’s been giving me looks. That should make him totally lose it.

You might think these are two chocolate glazed Duncan Donuts munchkins. Oh no, my friend. This is me at my physician’s office giving a physical to famous TV star and comedian Bill Cosby. I said to him, you need to drop your old ass nuts into my hand and turn your head and cough, because I’m worried about your health. You’re way old, have you seen yourself lately? You’re practically disgusting. So either you take your pants off or I take them off for you and if you choose option #2 I’m going to squeeze them super hard. Anyway when his head was turned I took a picture of his nutsack.

I just moved to Boston, and full disclaimer, I’m a copywriter for an ad agency. So yes, I get briefed on turds like this all the time. “The client wants copy to reflect local stereotypes because people will relate to it, buy their shit, then we can all go back to Facebooking at our desks.” That’s not exactly the wording I hear but that’s the subtext. So inevitably anywhere I travel I see billboards that make me want to gouge out my eyeballs. Ok, think think what else is Boston famous for- “You want faster service? Better raise Paul Revere from the dead.” Yes, yes keep going- “Doesn’t take a Harvard grad to appreciate our fixed-rate mortgages.” Holy shit I’m jizzing, keep going-