Apparently this person is afraid pollen levels are so high they’ll clog up the dozens of other open spots on this street. I disagree with this behavior in the winter, but in the spring it’s outright sociopathic.
The city of Boston is supposed to pick up this garbage 48 hours after a snowstorm, so maybe they’re just running a little behind. By about 1,656 hours.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put on my old man pants and shake my fist at some other things that make me angry.
For years, my detractors have been spreading the scurrilous rumor that I subsist solely on coffee, beer, and burritos. I didn’t want to dignify that absurd lie with a response, but my hand has been forced.
I hope this settles the debate so I can move on to the serious business of drawing a fart cloud that has testicles for some reason.
I’m sure I have “Sidewalk Rage,” if that’s even a thing, but why do slow-walkers get a pass from that fuckin’ article? The disabled and anyone with a kid who can no longer fit in a bjorn have obvious excuses, and I’ll make exceptions for tourists when I make the dumb decision to visit a touristy part of town (Fenway, and that’s about it.), but a regular ol’ adult who walks slowly just to smell the fuckin’ roses? Fuck that selfish asshole.
The best advice comes at the very end of the article:
Most people tend to look down as they walk. That’s a mistake, says Mehdi Moussaid, a cognitive scientist at the University of Toulouse who models walkers’ behavior on public sidewalks and was an author of the PLoS One study. Some of his advice: Look up and take a wide-angle view to catch openings and slip through.
Cool tip, scientist. I think you’ve been watching too much Arrested Development.
On a serious note, unless you’re in New York City, there isn’t enough sidewalk space in cities to accommodate everyone, hence the anger. And as mad as I get at sidewalk slowpokes, it’s nothing compared to the shitheads from the suburbs who demand multiple lanes and on-street parking that cut into my precious sidewalk real estate.
It’s been a while since I gave a shout-out to the Animal Protection Center of Southeastern Massachusetts (APCSM). That’s where we adopted this little kitten over the holidays. I was pushing to name her Hoagie, but sanity (my better half) prevailed, and now her name is Greta. So “Hoagie” is still on the table if we ever have kids. (It’s not unprecedented!)
They received a lot of cats, kittens, and dogs this week and hope to find homes for all of them over the weekend. So if there’s a pet-shaped-hole in your home, go to Brockton and fill it!
If you’re not in the market for adopting an anipal, please consider kicking a few bucks to the shelter if you can, either by donating directly, or attending one of their fundraisers.
I promise not to cat-blog often, unless Greta does something I can exploit for viral pageviews, like showing off her record spinning skills this morning.
The fire sped up and complicated the move we had planned for August 1st, which is why the lights have been out here at BFW for the past few weeks. We’re finally settled in at our new digs in Jamaica Plain, and I’m cranking out work and shipping merch that was ordered during the move. Check back tomorrow for a brand new cartoon!
I’m going to miss Davis Square and its abundance of burritos, but JP has been my second home for nearly three years, and in my opinion, it’s Boston’s best neighborhood, in spite of its flammability.
My girlfriend’s roommate and my friend Eli had the misfortune of that awful fire destroying all of his belongings, save for his cat Bandit, a soggy photo album, and this artfully charred t-shirt. He didn’t have renter’s insurance, so he’s literally left with only the shirt on his back.
If you’ve got something in his size you can spare, particularly business attire, let me know and I’ll send you the shipping details. His sizes are:
Pants – 36×30
Suit – 42R
Shirts – XL
Dress Shirts – 17 34/35
Shoes 10 – 10 1/2 (depending on the brand)
If you’re in or near JP or Davis Square, I can probably manage to pick stuff up and save you some shipping.
Thanks so much! I’ll be sure to get back to goofing on teabaggers and Al Gore’s wang shortly!
UPDATE Wednesday, July 14th: We went back to the place today to try and salvage a few more things and Nico was there ALIVE! She was probably hiding in a box-spring yesterday. The vet gave her a clean bill of health and her appetite is huge. Thanks to everyone who sent in tips and well-wishes.
There was a huge, four-alarm fire at my girlfriend’s apartment today. All of the tenants are fine, and three four cats were reunited with their owners.
Unfortunately, one cat died and another is still missing. If you live in Jamaica Plain near South Street and Boynton, keep an eye out for Nico. Her best bud Olive got out with minor burns, so we’re hoping Nico’s out there on the not-so-mean streets of JP.
Shoot me an email if you’ve seen her!
I love eating everything Noah decided to put on that crazy ark of his (except for people*, even the dumb religious ones), so naturally this headline caught my eye:
Mesa Restaurant’s Lion Burgers Draw Protests
Awesome, right? Even if it’s in that racist shithole of Arizona, I’d consider making the trip to eat a motherfuckin’ (farm-raised, not wild, mind you) lion. But then I read this:
The lion burgers, which will be mixed with ground beef, will be served with corn and spiced kettle chips. The restaurant will offer a South African wine to complement the $21 dish.
“MIXED WITH GROUND BEEF?!” If I want to eat a stupid cow that couldn’t hunt and kill a gazelle to save its stupid fucking life, I’d go to any ol’ steakhouse. Why not mix the finest whisky with some Budweiser while you’re at it?
Also, corn and spiced kettle chips? Jesus Christ, Arizona. This is what happens when you kick out the only ethnicity in your state who knows how to make side dishes.
*Dolphins, whales, and apes are all people as far as this post is concerned.
I’m back from Old England and home in New England. I had a wonderful time thanks to everyone who recommended things we should do. With your help, I was able to drink my weight in cask ales and eat enough meat pies to sop it all up.
We had a blast hanging with Nick, James, and Rob in Camden and Shoreditch. And my ass was literally blasted by the curry on Brick Lane.
And an extra special thanks to Phill Jupitus and the entire Jupitus clan for their seaside hospitality. Their local chippy puts every restaurant on the Cape to shame. I urge all of my fellow Americans to petition BBC America to show some Never Mind the Buzzcocks and QI instead of its endless Top Gear marathons.
Not sure when or how, but I’ll return. A comic convention or King Ralph-type scenario are probably the most likely options.
They don’t have the Double Down here, but I’ve seen countless ads for this monstrosity:
So many shapes and colors (and tastes, presumably) that don’t appear in nature. But the real crime here is the terrible copy. Why the pun? Are fajitas associated with hip hop culture over here, or with go-go girls? I’m so confused.
There are also lots of Pizza Huts and McDonalds in central London, which we probably sent over in retaliation for their burning of the White House in the War of 1812.