The motorcyclists who go by my house have their mufflers detached so they make a lot of noise. Why don’t they get ticketed? I get stopped when my tail light goes out.
This was in a Rolling Stone from March that I picked up from the recycling bin at the dump. It’s about a teeny-bopper pop star:
Justin Bieber leans back on a couch in a North Miami strip club’s weed-scented VIP room, casually accepting lap dance after lap dance. . . . More than once, Bieber pauses mid-grind to lean over and fist-bump his dad, who’s always up for some family fun.
If I can figure out what that says . . . I never did anything like that with my father, I’m happy to say.
Rolling Stone was good in the old days, with real articles. At least the pages were bigger.
Road signs are designed to confuse people. There’s one that says “Exit” when it should say “Exits.” Someone who takes the “Exit” will, half of the time, be going in the wrong direction.
Old signs on Interstates are losing their reflecting paint. You can’t see what they say until it’s too late.
Restaurants are too noisy to eat in. Young people go on dates and sit there on their Iphones. They don’t mind the noise because they’re texting each other. Whatever that means.
People don’t unite in any kind of shared culture or fellowship. They are barely coexisting with everyone else’s narcissism.
That’s why I saw someone diapering a baby at their table at a restaurant. It could have been worse (if you know what I mean).
That’s enough for now. My dudgeon is all frothed up and I have to get off it.