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Cardhouse
macros2000.com

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2003aug01. Xdrive.com is a large pile of shit inside a larger pile of shit.

2003aug01. The hot new rim technology is to have rims that also have rims. There are rims on the inside, and rims on the outside, and the ones on the inside spin when the wheels spin and the rims on the outside sort of spin occasionally. You’re going to love this exciting new mode of personal expression as it winds its way through society until your grade-school principal is all meta-rimmed out on his ‘92 Saab. I saw people in San Francisco actually pointing at the rims, and – believe me when I say this – I saw a guy trying to pick up two girls by claiming his friend actually made the rims. It was a very productive rim day in San Francisco.

2003aug01. I’m a big fan of the F-Line street cars. I wanted photos of all of them but I especially wanted ones of the Blackpool Boat Tram. Twice, I was looking the other way when the Boat Tram cruised right by behind me. Damned Boat Tram. One of my friends said today he takes it a number of times during the week, he was all “faw faw faw” and I was like “yeah, go on, tell me again how you’re able to successfully pursue and capture the Boat Tram.” It was a great story.

2003aug08. So the Budget moving truck was supposed to be ready by 9am and when we went to pick up the guy at the counter said they didn’t know where the truck was and that they would find it and call us. And it was supposed to be returned the previous day. So we’ve rented a renegade truck. Then we call back at noon and they've found the truck they just need one or two hours to inspect the truck and they will call us back. So at 3pm we call again and the truck had been ready for an hour and a half and they were very busy so they could not call us. And we get there and some people who are speaking French are trying to rent a car and I’m making “no no no” faces at them when the rental guy is looking away, because I’m not going to screw myself out of a rental truck when we’re supposed to be out of the apartment in nine hours. I don’t know how these people ended up there, it was in the middle of a no-action sleepy business community, someone must have really hated them to drop them off there. Anyway, we get the truck and we pack. We pack the truck to the top. It is full of our crap and there’s really too much of it, it’s embarassing me more and more with every load hand-carted outside. The maximum load of this truck is four tons of crap, I have a funny feeling that we’re very close to this limit (one Budget pamphlet, or perhaps it was the driver’s manual, recommends you take your truck to a weigh station to see if you are overweight – yes, it’s overweight, I'll just go rent a bigger truck and move everything again, no problem). This is a fifteen-foot truck. This takes approximately twelve hours. During this time the following is noted: Budget neglected to give us a hand-truck as requested. Budget neglected to clean out the ashtrays – not that I would care, but then, if you return a truck in such a state, you are penalized various dollars. Budget neglected to provide for us something called a “back license plate” which to my understanding is required in the United States and probably something Budget would notice during their 1.5 hour inspection of the truck. Perhaps this is just wishful thinking. Then there is driving, escaping from California at 4am. A boatload of driving. During this time the girlfriend was the macho trucker and I was the wimp car driver guy. The girlfriend discovers the exciting “exhaust brake” switch which is activated by pulling on the right-hand steering column stalk – you know, just like activating the windshield wipers on 90% of current model cars. The exhaust brake, when activated, starts getting pissed off for various mechanical reasons I still don’t understand – not that I know what the fuck “exhaust brake” means – and the truck begins to emanate a screechy-ass beeping noise that fills the cab and causes anyone with any common sense to pull over.

We are pulled over in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night. That would be the second night. We didn’t stop at a motel or anything, we just took powernaps that apparently worked for the girlfriend but I was sort of delirious the whole time after packing. Always the best state of mind to be in while driving a car. “Look, purple zebras, floating on my windshield.”

First, there is no indication that the exhaust brake is “on” or “off.” No light tells you this, like for example, when you turn on the brights. Then, when the truck started beeping, a companion light was supposed to turn on that said something like “Exhaust Brake is Mad, Turn It Off” but there was no such light as well. I don’t know how we figured it out since we had been working at this moving thing for about 32 hours at that point. Calls to Budget were involved, and miracles of miracles, the driver’s manual was in the glove compartment.

A few hours later, we took another powernap in a trucker’s parking lot in a trucker’s Freeway Exit Town That Is Exactly The Same As Every Other Freeway Exit Town. This one had a DQ/gas station and there was a sign on the door that warned people that nuts were being processed on-site, so I knew we were still in California at that point.

So I’m in the middle of my powernap, and because the rest of the car is packed to the gills with Sensitive Technology from the year 1992, I’m forced to powernap by leaning my head on the door of the car. With a towel inbetwixt. And then for some reason I got up, slowly, very, very, very groggily. And I turned to the left, and there’s this extremely bright light shining in my face. And a voice.

“Hey there! You just taking a little rest there?”

And at this point, we’re up to about 35 hours of mostly non-sleep, so when people disturb my powernapping, I’m no longer pissed off, I’m completely off the rails lost.

I was pretty sure, given the implied hospitality behind the remark, the bright light, and my sleep deprivation that I was talking to a miner.

So I’ve got to answer our little spelunking friend. And in my brain, I’m composing a reply like “Why yes, yes we are, Sir Miner. As an aside, your light is certainly not assisting me in this task.” But this is what I said.

“Wu?”

I couldn’t even finish my non-grammatical reply, that’s how bad off I was. Then, the light had more questions.

“So you’re travelling with your friends up there in the truck?”

“Ye.”

Then there was another question I can’t remember, followed by another “ye” and some sort of sign-off with another “ye” and the police car rolled away. Funny, he didn’t seem to bother the truckers.

After that, the girlfriend and I split up so I could tear-ass to the new digs before massive paralysis shut my withered old butt down.

At the old place, we had to contend with the noises of Highway 101, various low-flying television and government aircraft, small-penised men with large after-market car mufflers, the pre-divorce/pre-restaining order verbal dances of neighbors, and the cotton candy man, though I liked the cotton candy man. “COTTON CANDY! COTTON CANDY!” The cotton candy man was all Heisenberg and shit, you could see him, or hear him, but you would never see him yell “COTTON CANDY!” I should have bought some cotton candy from him, even though I do not like cotton candy. Anyway, at the new place, I don’t mind any of the “noises” which consists of coyotes, birds, lizards, burros, cows, chickens, and roosters, the latter owned by the neighbors over yonder. I’ve named one of the roosters “Sir Hides-A-Lot” because every single time I look over there, he’s running from the coop entrance to the back of the coop. It’s the exact same, every time, like a film loop. And that whole morning crowing thing is bullcakies – roosters crow whenever they damn well want to and good for them. So far, I’m 3 for 3 on beating them up in the morning. I mean, getting up before they crow, not actually physically punching them out. That was more for the Honda muffler crowd. Oh, I forgot one thing. Here in the desert, it’s very unlikely that I will see a white Mercedes stretch limo (with gold trim, duh) pull right up next to my window while the passenger engages in a pathetic round of verbal jabs at 2am with one of the apartment dwellers next door, and then he signals to the driver to dramatically drive away while he’s still swearing but the driveway is very small so he has to back the limo up slowly, totally blind so the passenger is like “YEAH AND YOU FUCKING SUCK AND --- no, you’re good, okay a little to the left YOU PRICK ASSH --- no, not you, keep going, you’re doing good ... ” and then they get on the street, finally, and peel out with a dramatic flourish into their Total Drug Future 2017. Gonna miss that.

2003aug11. Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory, San Francisco.

2003aug14. Mail.

child hood memories

Yes. Child hood memories.

Please send me a sample copy of your magazine to the following address:

Mohammad Jalayer
P.O.Box 91375-1378
Mashhad
Iran

Mohammad:

Many of my loyal readers are sending you things that seem suspiciously not like my magazine.

Hello my name is Christine S, I have bought a bag full of your candy smokes, and half of the bag of candy smokes, had about 2 to 3 candys in its box. I was upset when I notice it. I am not sure if people took them out of the pack from the store, or they where packed that way. Thought I would let you know. We buy this product all the time, Its very good candy.

Christine:

About five thousand packs got out with the limited amount of product you describe above. The line worker responsible for this infraction, Fred Rojo, has been promoted to marketing, where he will be less of a concern to the financial well-being of our sensual corporation. You have our permission to steal an equivalent amount from your local grocer’s to make up the difference. Thank you for your concern.

Man “Manny” Laikspellor

What has happened to Jeff Stendec. He used to make me laugh daily with his witty writing style.

He was struck by lightning while SCUBA diving and died.

I am strongly pro-nut and find your website highly offensive.

--Stefanie

Did I do this one already? [runs around stage a few times, gets into character]

Oh.

WE ARE INTERESTED IN IMPORTING CANDIES TO MALTA/
KINDLY EMAIL FOB PRICES.
REGARDS.
J. GRECH MALTA
jgtrading10@hotmail.com

Every month, Mr. Grech of Malta contacts me, wanting to import candies. This isn’t spam, he just honestly has the brain capacity of a bronzed walnut. I started in with the really big swear words about six months ago, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. Whatever you do, Don’t sign this guy up for like, all the spam in the world. Glad I didn’t list his email address or anything [Mandrake gestures hypnotically].

I was riding out of Chicago on I-80/90 through Gary, Indiana when I saw a sign that reminded me of a Cardhouse post from a little while ago. I was pretty sure it was you, so I checked. I was right. It was the post about the mean-looking Bridgeport Bluefish mascot. What I saw that reminded me of that was a billboard promoting the Gary Southshore (Indiana) RailCats. I don’t know what a RailCat is, but the mascot pictured is a cat holding a baseball bat made out of a steel i- beam with a look of uncontrolled rage upon its face. What is best about the logo is the vague placement of its hands (paws) on the beam-bat. Is it holding the bat in preparation to swing it? Or is it about to deliver the coup-de-grace stab of death upon an unseen enemy?

I think this whole psychotic mascot thing started with the re-branding of the Snap, Crackle, and Pop mascots for whatever cereal that is that they’re supposed to be ... what is it that they do again? Sit next to the cereal? All I can remember them doing is pouring the milk. Anyway, They re-drew them, Disneyfied them, and Pop came out looking like he was going to jump off the box and start munching your eyeballs. This opened a lot of doors in the re-branding community. “Why not make our mascots insane?” seems to be the hot question these days. Indeed, I’d like to see corporations openly taunting their customers, labelling products “Aunt Jemima’s Factory-Machined High-Fructose Corn Syrup -- You Like It Because You’re Too Lazy To Find Real Syrup, You Shits” and the like.

Hello,
Do you actually sell these on your site for adult consumption. It seems the addiction to the candy cigs are as bad as the real ones.
Thanks!
Nancy

Yep, it’s just as bad as lung cancer, being hooked on candy cigarettes.

please send me free sample copy catalog by post:

shahrooz wakili-plak no.10 -5th chaman zibaei alley-rostami alley- wahdat blvd.-saghez- kurdistan-iran

Coming right up, Shahrooz Wakili-Plak No. 10 – 5th Level Chaman. Or maybe something else.

Hello

Blackpool is a horrible, grotty holiday place up north. I’ve driven down the miles-long promendard but I certainly kept my car doors locked. There is a tower (a reproduction of the top-most section of the Eiffel Tower) and a roller coaster so absurdly large they had to get planning consent from the local airport.

It is run by gangsters and when these gangsters arn’t trying to kill each other they plan to make it into a kind of ‘Las Vegas'-on-sea. I guess the closest thing in America to Blackpool would be Coney Island, only without the sun.

You are right in saying that this type of open top tram still goes up and down on the tram-lines, but the difference between those in Blackpool and those restored models in SF is that the SF ones have unsmashed glass and (I assume) don’t stink of piss.

So, if you visit England avoid the place. There are plenty of Tram museums in nicer parts of the country.

Warm Regards
Emlyn K Helicopter
www.noisebastard.com

2003aug15. A sign outside the library here reads “NO WEAPONS ALLOWED IN LIBRARY.” Feeling much safer here in the desert.

2003aug15. An article in SFWeekly reveals Friendster CEO Jonathan Abrams to be an uptight suit who has a problem with “creative” Friendster profiles (like Death, Pure Evil, Emperor Norton, etc):

“No. They’re all going,” he says, his voice steely. “All of them.”

Someone needs to make open-source Friendster, something without money attached to it. Like a P2P Friendster.

2003aug20. One for the boys & girls in Homeland Security.

December 7, 1987, Flight 1771 was on its daily run on the ‘PSA Expressway’ between LAX and SFO, piloted by Gregg N. Lindamood. David Burke, a disgruntled ex-USAir employee, made his way past security using his badge (which hadn’t been returned yet) and brought a gun aboard. He shot the crew, and then himself, causing the plane to nosedive from 23,000 feet, go supersonic, and hit a cattle ranch at 4:14 PM near Harmony, CA, killing 44. People thought it may have been an engine failure (since in February 1987, a BAe going to Reno had to land in Fresno after an engine disintegrated.) Burke had been fired from USAir over $69 in missing Liquor receipts.

2003aug21. Mail.

Hi
I recently posted documentation of the ‘spinning rims’ phenomenon (movie link) These are going to be huge, because the effect is truly mesmerizing. If only I had a car.
dg

I saw the guy who knew the guy who makes the spinning rims.

2003aug21. You’re so special! Yes you are.

2003aug21. Larry H informs me that there is a sort of P2P friendster network called FOAF. And it even has fill-in-the-blank forms. In other news, the roosters are crowing to let me know that it’s around lunch time, or later, or earlier. We went up on the roof to match the roosters to the crows. There’s also one rooster in another distant coop that I can’t see and it has the most anemic crow, it’s so sad to hear him.

2003aug22. Bugs, fucking.

This is the new sexual position all of Hollywood is talking about for 2003. Taking a bug up the backside while your face is jammed in a cactus. Hotter than the Atkins diet. Fool your friends.

Unrelated: lard.

2003aug24. In the mornings I hie myself to the lavatory for the morning’s ablutions. Today, I almost kicked over a bowl on the floor. I grabbed the bowl, and brought it up to ponder it: what the hell was a bowl doing on the bathroom floor? Then, in my non-spectacle-wearing grogginess, I realized that there was an off-brand sticky-backed paper note attached to the bowl. On it was written one word, in upper case all spaced out and stuff to make it more important.

S C O R P –
I quickly put the bowl back in the same spot, ending the fleeting freedom of our recent prisoner “Mr. Stingy.”

2003aug24. Factual statement. Factual statement. Seemingly plausible branch of logic given the insane asylum we live in today. URL link to half-conscious paragraph’s concern. RIDICULOUS EXCLAIMED ASSUMPTION!!!!! Second semi-comical remark, at the expense of the first. Random personal comment revealing absolutely nothing about the author. Forced punchline.

2003aug25. [Cardhouse] Moving/Shipping Cross-Country: A Guide.

2003aug26. Maakies: The Career.

2003aug27. Deuce of Clubs: Clothespin match gun.

2003aug27. Bad Toon Rising. Drawing famous cartoon characters from memory.

2003aug27. TECHNOLOGICAL BREAKTHROUGH: WATERMELON HELMET, FACE MASK [via dangerousmeta]

2003aug31. Packages of food for childrens. [via fark]

2003aug31. Commercial animation art from the 50s-60s.

2003aug31. Acts of Gord: Chapter 21. I linked to this a long, long time ago. Perhaps there are more entries. I cannot say at this time.