Excerpts from: "Life Tips For The Young - (What Stuff Really Means)"
A breed of mostly men trained to perpetually sabotage your automobile on a kind of falling dominoes system that starts when you first go in for an oil change only to find out, a month later, that you now need a new oil filter. After returning the car to have the oil filter changed you find out a month later that you need new spark plugs, and then another month later, new leads, then a fan belt, then clutch, then brake pads, then battery, water pump, transmission, head gasket and so on and so forth until you finally give up on your car and sell it to your mechanic who is only too happy to do you the favour and take it off your hands for, say, 100 bucks.
The next week you will recognise your old car standing out front of the mechanic shop looking brand new and sporting a big sign that says “One Owner! $17,000!”
The trick is to check where the black fingerprints are located every time your car is returned to you after each bogus repair so you’ll know what they’ve tampered with and what is therefore going to break down next because those sonsofbitches broke it while they were fixing the last thing they also broke.
Whether they sit in perfectly straight lines in great parcel and envelope sorting enclaves for forty years or more, or are out on their brightly painted bicycles delivering mail up and down the streets in all kinds of weather, they are all nutters. During an average working day the underside of the average postal worker’s fingernails collect bits of dead skin from more than 7,000 unknown individuals. This is apt to drive anyone toward the dark side.
First metropolitan cab off the rank when the sea levels rise with global warming. Amsterdam is most notable for two things: It is below sea level, and everyone and their dog rides a bike. Not a motorbike, a pushbike. A bicycle. Amsterdamners prefer to ride old-fashioned bikes like the one Anne Frank used to ride in the months leading up to the Second World War (see “Stove Pipe Jeans”). They also like to ride with the same countenance film makers have imagined Anne Frank used to have when she was riding her bike around, with the head tilted back in a kind of arrogant defiance and the neck scarf flailing behind in the breeze. Amsterdamners are also proud of their Marijuana Cafes, known throughout the world, and also the display window whore houses which leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
(See steroids) Is the world’s most supremely developed man as judged by a panel of bent over goons without a serviceable ballsac among them.
Sponsored in toto by fake tanning products. Miss Olympia contestants are predominantly Caucasian and leave their faces and heads a pasty white while the rest of their bodies they paint a black-brown from the jaw-line on south and look like exceedingly fit and well-built human lighthouses.
An attempt by evil global masterminds to capture in video format the contents and appearance of every bedroom on planet earth using clueless human guinea pigs to do the dirty work for them, for free.
A single person who’s ignorance is so total it somehow maintains its own fierce center of gravity while all around it the rest of the news team are losing their minds in the mad dash for advertising dollars.
A man for whom freedom has become a distant, joy-filled memory.
A distant joy-filled memory.
After the invention of the petrol-driven engine it was believed that speeds of more than 30 miles per hour could snap your head right off if you had to turn to see if anything was coming up from behind. Like a Cheetah. These fears proved unfounded however when it was discovered that the human does not snap off until speeds somewhat in excess of 30 miles per hour are reached.
Someone who is never directly looked at but only glimpsed as a dark silhouette bent over a horse-drawn plough somewhere out along the horizon.
Someone who’s skirt is never clear of clinging, snot-nosed children with dirt behind their ears.