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INDIGNITY VOL. 3, NO. 32: All beef, no sandwich
EASY LISTENING DEP'T.
New York City, March 8, 2023
★★★ Sun flashed on the flashing of the brownstones across the avenue. Something cast a circle of light with an X of light inside it onto a blank wall. The shadow of a tree branch, stretched westward along the side of a building, waved more extravagantly than the branch itself. One knuckle was starting to chap and crack from the persistent dryness; the jeans on the rack were not the least bit damp. The wind moved clouds across the zenith and raised a tear from the eye. In the cross-street shade the cold was numbing. The red-painted facade of a Pentecostal church thrummed on the retinas. In the park, the trill of a robin came up between the stereo-spaced screams of the blue jays. The abundance of the light brought out the grime on windows, but everything all around had the chance to be reflective: the paved basketball court, a peeled stick, the top of a portable toilet, the rim of a black trash bag lining a barrel.
Mr. Wrong: Here's the Beefs
I HAVE SEVERAL beefs this week, so the Mr. Wrong Column is going to address them all. Thank you for reading the Mr. Wrong Column, unless you skip over it to look at the Sandwich Recipe, in which case, I have no comment, go in peace, and think about kicking in a few bucks to support the other four days of this enterprise, OK?
“Fur Baby” is totally goddamn annoying. Stop saying “Fur Baby,” for fuck’s sake, it’s making you dumber. Who made this a thing, like, your pet is a baby? It’s childish! Also, is this a compensation thing for not having a Flesh Baby, which is what I now call human babies, so nobody confuses real babies with the fur ones? I haz cat, and it is 12 years old, so it’s not a baby, see? It’s insulting to the creature to be called a “baby” when it is a functional Adult of its species! “Ooh, is that your ‘Fur Baby,’” no, it is fucking most decidedly not my fur baby, it’s not my baby made out of fur, you dolt, it’s a pet animal, or Animal Companion, if you will, that’s fine, you’re giving the life form some dignity, although most of the time there’s nobody really asking the animal if they want to be a Companion to you, eh? You gotta bribe ’em with food to hang around! The Animal Companions of mendicants, I think, have really decided to be a companion, because they could probably figure something out, run off or whatever, but they stay with their Flesh Person or whatever out there on the median in the middle of the intersection with the cardboard sign and stuff, respect. Plus, what if you have one of those scrotum-looking cats, or a lizard, or a beloved turtle or fish or one of those mini-pigs, are any of those a Fur Baby? It’s fucking stupid, plus, it’s involuntary anthropomorphizing or something, so quit it, OK?
Baltimore Orioles baseball tickets “Baltimore Fee” is giving me blood pressure in my head. For fuck’s sake, they are not even trying to call it a thing that makes sense when they take your ticket price and then just make up shit and add it on in the form of Dollars and Cents, plus tax. Look at this goddamn fucking bullshit, I bought the cheapest possible ticket, $29.00, and then they charged me a FEE for BALTIMORE. A fee for the who the what?!? $3.00 for huh?!? But wait, there’s more! TICKET FEE, for the idea of a ticket, that used to be a thing, made out of paper, a ticket, and they don’t do those anymore, it’s some digits that go in your thing on the Internet and then you use a barcode on your phone to get in to the stadium, so you’d think they’d be saving money on it now, but nooooo, somehow it’s an extra $5.75 because I made an agreement to pay money to sit in a seat with a baseball game going on in front of it! Three bucks plus five seventy-five is almost the price of a beer at the stadium! Oriole Park at Camden Yards is fucking me out of a beer!
Motherfucking Ticketmaster tickets for Brian Posehn. I enjoy going to live comedy shows to laugh, but I am not made outta money, so I am not going to the Brian Posehn comedy show in Baltimore, Maryland, USA because I have to draw a line somewhere! I have carped about TicketMaster and their perfidy ad nauseam, and here I go again, goddamn it. I refuse to pay this extra TicketMaster fee, look at this shit, I almost pulled the trigger on two tickets at $25 each, but I couldn’t do it because I was getting robbed! $8.55 for each instance of gaining access to a room for laughing in! Two beers! Couldn’t do it. I hate you, TicketMaster.
Stupid Netflix let me change my plan from $9.99 a month to $6.99 a month, and then I tried to use my newly changed plan and the goddamn Netflix didn’t work on my little Apple iTeevee-box or whatever. The plan was not Supported or some bull crap. It also wouldn’t work on my Sony television set which is a smart television set with all the smartness, and it wouldn’t work on my Panasonic Blu-Ray DVD player which also has the smart things. Semi in the words of Auric Goldfinger, First time: happenstance. Second time: coincidence. Third time: Enemy Action! Fuck you Netflix! 230 million subscribers minus one! Cancelled!
Daylight Savings Time is over. I mean, stop talking about it, and stop worrying about if there’s a Law for it or against it. Set your own schedule, respect the agreed-upon Time Zone, and shut the fuck up about it; you still get 24 hours in a day. You want more Daylight, the Earth is round and on a tilted axis in relationship to where the Daylight comes from! Some places on the globe get more Daylight! Move to a place that has more Daylight!!! Don’t forget to turn your sundial back one hour this weekend!
The MR. WRONG COLUMN is a general-interest column appearing weekly wherever it can appear. No refunds. Write Wrong: email@example.com
VISUAL CONSCIOUSNESS DEP’T.
Still with the Easter candy, jeez
More consciousness at Instagram
SANDWICH RECIPE DEP’T.
WE PRESENT INSTRUCTIONS for the assembly of select sandwiches from Recipes of the Women’s Club of San Mateo, compiled by May Robinson Thomas, Dietician, published in 1909, found in the public domain and available at archive.org for the delectation of all.
3 breakfast cheeses
Cream the cheese with melted butter; add a little juice from the pimento; cut all the crusts from a loaf of bread and cut in lengthwise slices about one-third of an inch thick; butter and spread with cheese; then put three length-wise strips of pimentos, and then two on the next slice and so on until the loaf of bread is used; let stand and cut, just before serving, like a loaf cake.
—Mrs. Julia Donnelly
1 can chopped pimentos
4 or 5 hard-cooked eggs
Sweet or sour pickles chopped fine
Mix the chopped pimentos, hard-cooked eggs, pickles together with mayonnaise, and spread on thin slices of bread
If you decide to prepare and enjoy a sandwich inspired by these offerings, kindly send a picture to us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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