Reading
December 24
- Deck the halls, etc.
- Prep full turkey dinner
- Make sure Janie nails down “Hark!”
- TINSEL
- See if George remembers to pick up the Merry Christmas wreath
- The families are coming. Spike the eggnog
December 25
- Clean the house because of the “miracle” (I didn’t know the entire town was coming over and they were going to drag all the snow in and SING)
- Send thank you notes to everyone we’ve ever met, I guess. Even Sam “still-with-the-hee-haw?” Wainwright
- Have a heart-to-heart with George to see if he’s okay. Also talk to Pete, Janie, and Tommy. And whoever at the Building & Loan lets Uncle Billy keep a pet squirrel
- Prep another full turkey dinner. Apparently
- Make more cookies? Violet is still passed out in my mudroom
- It’s just—we live in upstate New York, and everyone forgot to stomp the snow off their boots before coming in?
- Who the heck is Clarence?
December 26
- Take a breath.
“What is terrifying about happiness? / Happiness.”
Dear TomDispatch Reader, In 2022, when I was putting together the end-of-year plea I always post to keep TomDispatch going in a tough world, I wrote: “This time around though, I have to wonder whether it may be the last such missive I’ll write.” Well, as it happens (and thanks to the generosity of the readers of this website), it wasn’t. Three hundred and sixty-five days later — the beginning of our 23rd year and halfway through my own 79th year on this ever more embattled planet — I’m back, asking for your support. This is probably the least enjoyable thing I do at TomDispatch. I mean, why should I get any pleasure out of bothering you for money when, like... Read more
Source: Keeping TomDispatch Alive appeared first on TomDispatch.com.
Here at Pillsbury, we’ve made the difficult decision to retire our longstanding mascot the Pillsbury Doughboy. He is a bad coworker and a relic of an office culture that is no longer acceptable in the modern era.
He is seven feet tall, smells of yeast, and sleeps in his office. His favorite activity is compressing his body into the office fridge. Being constrained in cold temperatures seems to make him more powerful, and his muffled giggles are very distracting. We are sick of being asked to poke his belly. He spends most of the time moping around, feeding pigeons with pieces of his own flesh in the parking lot. When confronted about his day-to-day activities, the Doughboy sulks and whines about how everyone is so mean to him.
Sure, it’s cute when he giggles, but it’s unbearable when he cries. The most minor request from a coworker elicits a banshee scream that drives nearby coworkers to madness. When we politely asked him to stop microwaving his fish, he shattered the breakroom windows with his wailing.