Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Tag: Ice cream

I Lose My Faith In Humanity

OK, so Rom sent me to Walgreen’s to buy a broom. So I did.

It would not be reasonable to expect me to resist a “Magnum Chocolate Infinity” ice cream bar at Thornton’s, so I didn’t. I found a shady place to consume said item at the side of the building, next to the trash can. Then I noticed a more scenic spot under a tree, but I’d already committed myself to a course of action, and there was NO TURNING BACK.

As you might imagine, eating an ice cream novelty in this kind of heat is a hazardous proposition, and I ended up with chocolate all over my hands. I went to wash my hands inside the building (hoping they didn’t try to make me pay for the drink I was carrying a 2nd time), just got around the corner–not even near the door yet–and thought, Oh, forgot my broom. (Sounds like I ride one, doesn’t it?) Went back around the corner, and the broom was already gone. There had been a small silver car and a dark blue SUV parked on the side of the building, and both were gone now, so it could have been either one. Easy to say, “Look! A free broom!,” grab it, and leave out the side drive. So I’m out $14, and had to troop back to Walgreen’s and buy another broom, which I held in a deathlike grip until I got home. I told my sad story to the Walgreen’s clerk, so they wouldn’t wonder why I kept coming in there and buying brooms–dementia, perhaps? She tactfully refrained from mentioning that I had chocolate on my cheek, but I’d mentioned the ice cream bar, so at least she knew why that was–dementia, perhaps?

I am picturing the scene at the thief’s house–“Look! Got us a broom! We never could have afforded one! Now we can sweep the floor at last!” “You did good, honey.” (This is known as Lavish Sarcasm. I will give you a tutorial on it, if you give me $14.) (As I read recently, “Being good at sarcasm is like being good at torture. People notice it, but they don’t admire it.” Food for thought. I guess.)

Weirdest Phone Calls In Town

But first…

A new FanBaser expressed admiration for the way I “put Nick in his place.” She has not met the beast in question, and is unfamiliar with his attributes. It is not true, as some believe, that he does not feel pain as we do. On the positive side, he can be trusted not to eat his own young.


All these calls came in the same 8-hour time-span.

–“This girl is trying to jump my daughter, and she’s twice as big as my daughter!” The suspect was in the background yelling, “I am not!”

–“I’m pregnant, and I had rough sex, and now I’m bleeding.”. Luckily, the baby was apparently unharmed.

–Report of a black male with a mohawk, wearing a white shirt, white shorts, and black boots, staggering down the middle of Fulton Avenue. So where is Sly Stone these days?

–“I’m thinking of having a heart attack.” We advise against it.

–Report of theft from a dollar store–“He took some ice cream and put it in his pocket.” I presume he planned to suck it out of his pants later. Luckily, Nick was not working. He will attack if he catches the scent of ice cream. Or donuts. They train him with donuts.



Fitness for the Position

Apparently the meaning of Memorial Day is to get just as drunk as you can and crash your motorcycle.


I do not want to ever again hear:

–“terroristic threatening”

–“he put his hands on me”

–“I want him escorted off my premises”

–“you better get someone out here”


–Subject was letting her dog urinate off the balcony, which dripped onto the residents of the group home in the apartment below. Animal Control came out and issued a citation. Subject expressed her dissatisfaction with this by dumping a bucket of water off the balcony onto the residents, and jumping up and down on her floor, which was the caller’s ceiling. This behavior was succinctly summed up as “generally acting a fool.”

–“A guy in an ice cream truck is following and threatening me. He said his supervisor told him to do this.” I said kthnxbye and hung up quickly because I was about to burst out laughing. Then a colleague took a call: “I drive an ice cream truck, and I saw another ice cream truck, and that guy keeps following and threatening me.” Yes, TWO ICE CREAM TRUCKS WERE DRIVING IN CIRCLES THREATENING EACH OTHER. AND EACH ONE THOUGHT THE OTHER HAD STARTED IT. You know the old children’s story where the tigers chased each other around the tree until they turned into butter? (You do know it, right? I’m not the only one?) I guess these guys went round and round until they turned into melted ice cream. I so, so didn’t make this up. But I wish I had.


If you’re going to do the murder-for-hire thing for insurance money, first make sure you actually are the beneficiary of the policy.


I’m not usually drawn to Disney movies, but that “Maleficent” one actually looks pretty good. However, it occurs to me…



..which leads me inexorably to…


Your Bestial Majesty:

You requested I send you my resume for the position of resident troll under your bridge. I am not entirely sure why you would trust me that close to your house, because  I will most assuredly look in your windows. Nevertheless, here is the information you requested:

Summer, 1972: feature writer for local women’s newspaper. My crowning achievement was a several-page spread on fashions for the different astrological signs. Paper folded after one issue. Surely I was not to blame.

Summer, 1973: rewriting press releases for local business paper. Duties included listening to Pink Floyd and narrowly avoiding getting my finger sliced off in a paper cutter. I was let go when the boss realized he could rewrite press releases himself.

Early 1974: typist at a typesetting service. I was let go for being a lousy typist.

1974-1976: carburetor repair factory. Got along so badly with other employees that I was put in a department by myself. Got so badly bored that I quit without notice, and buried my phone under my dirty laundry on the closet floor so I couldn’t hear when they called me back.

1977: alarm service. Alienated other employees by not following dress code, even though I was told when I was hired that there was no dress code. I was let go when I burst into tears when we got busy during a storm.

Later in 1977: Got a job with a dress code so lax that we could come to work in nightclothes, still managed to alienate other employees by not following it. Quit after being beaten up on the premises.

1978-1980: Started career in government service at the Recorder of Deeds office in St Louis. Quit to support myself by writing. Failed to do so.

Halloween 1984: Started in Police Records. Corrected officers’ deplorable errors in their affidavits of probable cause. Occasionally acted as a Notary Public, which got me out of the office, even though I didn’t want to get out of the office. Leaped at chance to transfer to Radio, which seemed glamorous and exciting.

Sept. 1986–present: THE BOSS OF YOU AND YOUR KIND.

–As you can see, my disagreeable temperament and inability to dress appropriately do indeed qualify me for the position, just as you suspected. We do, however, need to discuss my salary requirements, since I do not eat frogs.


The Conspiracy Comes To McDonald’s

A cross section of a corn dog

A cross section of a corn dog (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

…but first, let’s clear something up. After interrogating Nick, using, um, approved methods, I determined that he is only guilty of low treason and misdemeanor $hit disturbing (which, I believe, is what he got his Boy Scout merit badge in). I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect a beast not to act in a bestial manner, but I am the Cop Whisperer, and I expect to have him tamed before I retire. And that’s probably when I’ll tell the story that started all this, because it kinda puts me in a bad light (though that’s never stopped me before). Anyway, he has been pardoned, and reinstated as Director of Security, and not a moment too soon, because the dangerous time is approaching when the Baby Corn will be replaced by the Union Suit. In fact, from September 1st until the autumnal equinox, they will both be active.

There is more than one kind of $hit, of course, and the ability to bull$hit starts early, as was proven today at McDonald’s. A little boy was telling his little brother the foods you can get at the Fall Festival. “There’s hamburgers, and hot dogs, and corn dogs, and corn burgers.” “Corn burgers?” said his brother. “I never heard of those.” “Yeah, they’re like corn dogs, except they’re burgers, with that corn on the outside.” I was actually beginning to think that was an actual item on a menu somewhere. For a suspicious person, I’m pretty gullible. (Don’t say a word, Nick. NOT. ONE. WORD.) But the kid then said, “No, I made that up. Someone should invent it, though.” Then I went and got a dip cone, which made the littler brother say, “I want an ice cream cone covered in chocolate,” and his brother said, “What?” and he said “I want an ice cream cone covered in chocolate!” “What?” “I WANT AN ICE CREAM CONE COVERED IN CHOCOLATE” “WHAT?” until I wanted to knock their heads together.

It just occurred to me–CORN WAS MENTIONED AT MCDONALD’S! Watch for Cornburgers to appear on the menu, promoted by Mayor McCorn. Be very afraid.

DID YOU KNOW? If you leave a police officer out in the rain, his Kevlar vest will become soaked, and cause a painful rash. I have it on very good authority! Striking at the soft white underbelly of the law, as it were.

DID YOU KNOW? A town in Alabama has a giant statue of a boll weevil being held up on a platter. Nothing should have a head as small as those things do. It’s just wrong.

Speaking of the will to annoy (weevils and their small heads annoy me–OK, if I have to explain a segue, I’m not writing very well), Happy Birthday to our own Certain Person. May you find someone to give you a back rub, because you know I’m not going to.


Only Slightly

English: ice cream cone in the street

English: ice cream cone in the street (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The title is courtesy of my (unpaid) publicist Lynbob, describing me as “only slightly twisted.” Yes, and I have integrated myself into society fairly well, or maybe slightly well, but anyway, well enough.

Today at Thornton’s (that place should pay me for advertising–a year of free soft drinks would suffice), ice cream cones were on sale. I considered purchasing one, since Nick had recommended them. (Something I will keep in mind–I may need to try bribing him with ice cream.) But I didn’t, because I wasn’t sure how to operate the machine. And why? Because the instructions were all in pictograms for the illiterate, and I only understand words. (Nick, it’s dangerous to roll your eyes while you’re driving.) I stared at it for some moments, then sadly slipped away.

On the way home, I stopped at the dollar store, in order to ascertain if Suave Daily Clarifying Shampoo was cheaper there or at Walgreen’s. (How many times do I have to tell you–YOU NEED TO KNOW.) On the way out, I spotted a squad car on the lot. Could it be? Yes, the selfsame Nick, who promptly slammed his car door and rolled his window up, lest I whack him on his sensitive snout. I persuaded him to open up (it would have gone faster if I’d had ice cream, I’m sure). So I got to watch him complete an accident report, one of the most exciting parts of police work. He directed me to guard his squad car while he went over to check something on one of the involved vehicles. Of course, I then thought, What will I do if someone does try to steal the car? I guess I’d give them the frowning of a lifetime, and see if that deterred them.

Report finished, he said, “Sure you don’t want to go on a ridealong?” There are few things I’m more sure of. BUT I actually considered agreeing (assuming his offer was genuine–he is a bit of a smartass <== UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE YEAR), because it would be a guaranteed blog post. That’s how devoted I am to You, The Readers. So if a ridealong with Nick ever comes to pass, which I can only imagine happening if I were to lose a bet, I promise to report on it here. I might omit any tears or throwing up, though.

He ended up giving me a ride home. For the whole two blocks I thought, What if he gets a run? I vividly remember being given a ride home by now-Sgt. S.H. and his partner, and them deciding to speed to the aid of another officer. “You can just let me out here first,” I said, and was answered by the click of the car doors locking. Well, then. Luckily, they/we were given a disregard. For a moment there, I almost had an adventure!

Speaking of past adventures, Happy Birthday to Charles Andrew, my oldest friend except for Rom himself. I taunt you with the fact that you missed some truly supernal BBQ. But that’s what you get for gallivanting–and in locales I once knew, no less! It’s hard to be impressed when my high school team is the Webster Statesmen. We will debate you to death! Gotta love the black-and-orange Halloween school colors, too.

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