"This is My 301st Post!", and Other News of Interest
So hey, no shit! This is Post 301! I realize that it might have made more sense to celebrate at a nice, normal, round number like 300. But why would I do something nice or normal? I say fuck nice and normal sideways with a wiffle-ball bat! That's right, a wiffle-ball bat!
301 posts, each one more scintillating than the last! Can you even fucking believe it?
Me, either. Especially that "scintillating" part.
I think I am going to use "fuck" in my posts much, much more. I enjoy the word "fuck" and use it with relish whenever the opportunity arises. And when I say "relish", I really mean relish. The word "fuck" just drips off my tongue and slides down my chin as if in search of a wayward hot dog. Mustard, anyone?
But I fucking digress.
This past weekend, the wondermous Sean and I took full advantage of "no tax day". You see, in order to help defray the costs of the Democratic National Cluster, Massachusetts offered a day in which no sales tax would be assessed on items costing less than $2500. That, incidentally, leaves quite a bit open. Now, with New Hampshire, land of No Sales Tax, directly north of up; we don't really need to make too big a deal out of no tax day. But since I take such singular glee in anything that resembles "sticking it to The Man", we did it up right.
Our first stop was Target, or "Tar-Jay" if you feel the need to be cute, where we stocked up on stuff we would normally buy anyway, and now could not pay tax on. Ha-HA The Man! We will now NOT pay tax on contact lens solution for AT LEAST TWO MONTHS!
After that, we hit Pier 1, where I elected to buy the shelf I've been eyeing for some time now. Luckily, I happened to see a notice next to the register that stated: Show your student ID for an additional 15% off all regularly priced merchandise! Well, don't mind if I do! That Emerson ID may pay for the 40 grand it cost me in tuition yet! No tax and 15% off! Hoofa!
Fuck! I just realized I've been forgetting to say "fuck". Fuck!
So, yeah, I saved all kinds of fucking cash at Pier 1. I even got some fucking silk-ass pillows for the motherfucking sofas! They are fucking gorgeous, all iridescent and shit.
Did we fucking stop there? Fuck, no! We got back in the car and heading for fucking Natick, where Sean's favorite scuba shop was hosting a one-day sale. I'm in need of some fucking snorkeling equipment, which is pretty fucking expensive--so one-day sales are always welcome (especially when they just happen to fucking fall on no tax days!).
When all was said and done, the fucking Passat (who I usually would refer to as "Gunther", but that doesn't go nearly as well with "fucking") was fucking stuffed full; and I was the proud new owner of a mask, a snorkel, and a pair of motherfucking flipperfins! Fuck, but I was jazzed!
And as if that weren't enough, the evening was capped off by a visit to the home of Wes, who is one cool motherfucker! We shared a fucking scorpion bowl and bunches of sushi, then threw a frisbee for Oliver the Sheepdog till the wee fucking hours.
It was a pretty fucking cool Saturday. Now I just have to wait for my motherfucking shelf to arrive.