A terrifying glimpse into small town America.

W: Worst sign ever. Harpersville gas station. "MERRY CHRISTMAS TRY THE NEW DORITOS FLAVORS".

J: Fuck, man, you seriously just ruined Christmas for me. I need an eggnog infusion, stat.

W: You mean 68 degrees with a chance of Cooler Ranch doesn't put you in the holiday spirit?

J: Isn't it just Cool Ranch again? So they didn't have to risk Coolest Ranch (which comes between the birth of the red heifer and the rebuilding of the Temple)?

W: Well, if so, I applaud their bold action. I, too, share the Frito-Lay Corporation's fear of the superlative.

J: Word for "fear of the superlative": Go!

J: "Phobiest"?

W: Ha. Yes. It's perfect, like how "lisp" and "rhotacism" are unpronounceable by those who have them.

J: I didn't even think about that. My cruelty is unconscious and keen.

J: Oh, rhotacism is Elmer Fudd... good to know.

W: Or Bahbwa Wahltahs.

J: Or the mawwiage guy from the Pwincess Bwide.

J: Sorry, "fwom".

Camarones a la diablo

W: A virgin shark gave birth last week. THE JESUS SHARK IS HERE.

J: He's just here to give them swim bladders so they can finally stop swimming. No cause for alarm.

W: But they'll die! FALSE MESSIAH!

J: Only the obligate ram ventilators.

W: I don't know what that means. Your bold new ideas terrify me and shake me to the very core.

J: They're the exhaust system for the hypertrophic gallspace negaengine.

W: They're blasphemy and I'll have none of that in my house!

J: It's stored in a probability branch where you're dead and I don't live in that apartment. So don't worry.

W: ARE THERE SHRIMP?

J: Not a one.

W: Did I die trying to save them?

J: Yes, Virginia.

W: Then I deem this dimension a moral victory.

I liked Christopher Walken before he was a meme

W: I just saw a truck for a laundry delivery service called Drop Your Pants at Work.

J: I'm taking that as a command.

W: A well-planned maneuver. I really hope the delivery boys are like a less authoritative version of Hot Cops.

J: I hope they get new customers by bursting into offices and demanding pants.

W: It's like a panty raid with lasting employment consequences!

J: Doesn't that apply to all panty raids these days?

W: Potayto potahto.

I just want to beat the internet like a pinata until money comes out

J: "If your best friend liked your ex, what would you do?"

"best friends don't do that. ever." - Mary Stephens.

THIS IS WHAT'S WRONG WITH BIRMINGHAM AND IT'S ALL HER FAULT

W: Right! Because all relationships end with INSURMOUNTABLE residual emotion. Also, no one should be happy. EVER.

J: More tears! Fewer kisses! Never get over it!

W: That's actually my personal mantra. I have a mirror image of the text tattooed on my chest.

J: That's the spirit! Don't let anyone else benefit from it.

Here's some stenciling I did the other day.

Oh, the horrible things Whedon and said.

W: So Buffy's mom has a brain tumor?

J: Yep.

W: What'd you do to her?

J: Called her on her cell phone a bunch.

W: Awwww. I'm going to have thumb cancer.

More like shitty politics, amirite?

J: "Fuck you, youth. Go to your room and think about what you (or the murderer that we've decided represents all of you) have done." -Birmingham City Council

W: We wouldn't be in this situation if the city council weren't such an absentee parent.

J: Would it kill them to drive me to soccer practice once in a while?

W: The new curfew is pretty much going to fuck Cave9, especially for Thursday shows.

J: Yeah. It sucks. You know they'll be watching.

W: The city council also keeps asking me if I need help bathing. I'm pretty sure I've got it at this point.

J: They just peer in the window at me. Valerie actually fell off her stepladder the other day. I thought about checking on her, but it was getting dark and the skaters were out.