#31

Crier Quotes

“Gotta keep them pimp hands strong, baby.”
- Bill Nye

Speed Reads

Fireball Whiskey Announces All Purchases Will Come with Complementary Card Suggesting Other Bad Decisions

NEW ORLEANS, LA — Taking the needs of their target demographic into consideration, Fireball Whiskey announced a new program that will supply all purchasers with a complimentary card suggesting other bad decisions. “As Bill Shakespeare once said, ‘Give the people what they want,’” said Fireball spokesperson Randy Stienitz, “I mean, there are thousands of better options, but these people are actively choosing to drink this stuff, so why not try these other things, right?”

The cards offer a wide variety of bad decisions for all drinkers like that streetlamp isn’t going to climb itself, is it? and as long as you lunge for the taser and not the gun, you’re good, and she probably didn’t get the first few messages because service in this bar is spotty after 3am, so text her in all caps this time to make sure it goes through, and yeah, you can definitely clear that gap, and who are you kidding, just drink the barbecue sauce straight out of the McDonalds cup already.

At the sending of this newsletter, a plan was presented to the board of directors to engrave the bottom of every bottle with “If you’re reading this, it’s already too late.”

Communist Wrestles with  Beliefs after Co-Worker Steals Clearly Labeled Lunch from Refrigerator

PORTLAND, OR — Adhering to the noon-hour steam whistle inside his stomach indicating “chow time,” local insurance claims adjuster, communist, and champion of the proletariat, Andrey Andreyev, was shaken to his core Wednesday afternoon as he stood in his company’s kitchenette. Staring into the now empty space, Andreyev was forced to wrestle with his long-held belief that we should live in a world without private ownership after his “clearly labeled" lunch was stolen.

“I know. I know. From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs and all, but damn. I was really looking forward to that sandwich,” said Andreyev, “I mean, did they wake up early this morning and thinly slice the tomatoes? Did they layer the ham, turkey, and Munster in perfect proportion? Did they cook the bacon the night before - fighting like hell against the tantalizing aroma as it filled their apartment - knowing that it would all be worth it in the long run? Did they mix the honey dijon spread by hand? Did they? Did THEY? NO. I DID! I EARNED THIS! WHY SHOULD SOMEONE WHO DOESN’T PUT IN THE SAME EFFORT GET EQUAL REWA- Oh, dear God . . . can it be? . . . No, NO! I won’t believe it.”

At the sending of this newsletter, Andreyev had his faith in the need for the destruction of capitalism reaffirmed during the company's 2pm "All Hands" meeting when he noticed the corners of his boss's mouth marked with a distinct dried dijon crusting, indicating it was he, the controller of the means of production, who had stolen his lunch.