Crappy photo of the new stamp I had made.
When I find a book, basketball (not too sure how well that will work, doesn't matter anyway, the dog gets all the balls I find and her reading level is way above rubber stamps and shit) or in this case a moleskin journal, I will stamp it and set it back into the stream, unless of course our household can put it to use, in that case I will stamp it as well and every time I use it I will give myself a reach-around sort of pat on the back that says "You really do have half a brain son." and roll through life knowing that I know how to make a rubber stamp come to life.
Then one day, years later, after I have broken my neck falling down 30 stairs with a 300lb can or burlap sack of trash falling upon my paralyzed body I will angrily demand the stamp be thrown in the trash and some other young chump will find this and crown it the highest point in irony and the world will fold in on itself and we will start all over again like the intro to the Simpson's that has Homer evolving from cell to caveman to caveman with a job.
This thing has that much power.
Touch it.
5 comments:
Ah, brilliant as always. As of a few hours ago, I've begun a borrowing agreement for a Rock Band set. I've been playing for 3 hours straight so far. You should come over and rock out into the wee hours (when you start work, most likely). Hope all is well, brother.
Are you talking the video game?
I have only experienced guitar hero at the hands of a deft 9 year old...
email me your new address and number and me and the little one will make a trip over on one of our walks.
The video game indeed. We's got a drum, guitar, and a mic. So bring your best face, strummer, and rhythm, buddy.
"...spelled with twots"
{truth} send me ABA balls {/truth}
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