Monday, September 15, 2014

injaynesworld "Are You Fucking Kidding Me Edition..."

Urban Outfitters, are you fucking kidding me?

A fake vintage Kent State sweatshirt in a blood-spatter design?    

What’s next?  Columbine baseball caps with bullet holes?   Maybe Sandy Hook backpacks complete with dead child doll?  And when’s the UC Santa Barbara version available?

I was around at the time of Kent State.  I watched the images play out across my black-and-white TV screen and felt the horror of seeing the U.S. government turn its guns on children.  I feel the shock and pain of it to this day.    

But you know, I have to thank you.  Just when I was afraid that I’d become numb to the ugliness of the world, that I’d lost my humanity and with it my ability to feel outrage anymore, you come along with your insensitivity to the countless families who have lost loved ones to hideous, senseless gun violence and show me that I am still capable of feeling shock and disgust. 

Whether perpetrated by mental deviants who walk among us or by those charged with serving and protecting, the National Guardsmen who fired on and killed those four innocent students at Kent State in 1970 and the police responsible for the murder of Michael Brown, such tragedies should be marked with tears, not souvenirs. 

And to the dirtbags who actually bought this sweatshirt?   Are you fucking kidding me?! 

Update:  Urban Outfitters has issued this statement:  "It was never our intention to allude to the tragic events that took place at Kent State in 1970 and we are extremely saddened that this item was perceived as such … There is no blood on this shirt nor has this item been altered in any way. The red stains are discoloration from the original shade of the shirt and the holes are from natural wear and fray."

Yeah.  I buy that…

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

injaynesworld we're "Ready for Takeoff..."

Clara settled into the first-class seat and closed the shade on the land they were about to depart.  She shook a single ten-milligram pill from its container and tossed it to the back of her throat as the stewardess handed her a glass of Chardonnay.  Tipping it to her lips, she washed down the pill, then handed back the empty glass and pulled the blanket up around her neck. 

“If we’re about to crash, please don’t wake me.”

And no one did. 

Monday, August 25, 2014

injaynesworld "Shop Early!"

It’s almost September, and even before the candle melts in your jack-o’-lantern, retail shops everywhere will be shoving Christmas in our faces and screwing Thanksgiving out of its rightful due.  I rail against this every year, but it’s like pissing into the wind.  So this year, I’m saying screw it.  If you can’t beat ‘em… well, you know the rest.

Merry Christmas, everyone!  

Does your gift list seem to grow every year while your wallet stays the same?   I've got the answer.  

It’s called “Suitable for Giving” for a reason.  

Making the Christmas party rounds and need a hostess gift?   Book clubs, garden clubs, office parties!  Be the most popular “Secret Santa” at your AA meeting! 

Best of all, at only $8.99, my little book is cheap and funny.  A gift doesn’t get any better than that.   

Check out the 19 5-Star and one 4-Star (you know who you are) reviews on Amazon!

“Hilariously brilliant book.”

“I want more!”

“Witty and bright!”

“Love this book!”

And I didn’t even sleep with any of these people!

“Suitable for Giving: A Collection of Wit with a Side of Wry” is the fail-safe gift for absolutely everyone.  You can’t possibly fuck up.  Even those people who are impossible to buy for will compliment you on finally getting it right. 

Buy now!  Buy extras!  Don’t be caught again this year by some asshole who buys you something and makes you feel like a douche because you’ve got nothing for them. 

Seriously.  Buy now.  I’ve got rent to make.   

 Ho! Ho! Ho! 

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

injaynesworld "Good Fences..."

Mr. Conroy lined up another redwood plank; little soldiers straight and tall.   He raised his hammer, pounding steel against steel, driving the nail deep into the cross rail. 

No more screaming kids running through his azaleas; no more dog droppings on his lawn…

He’d been at it since dawn.  The metallic taste from the nails he held between his teeth had begun to make him queasy, but he would wash away its bitterness later.

No more neighbors trying to sell him some damn thing for some damn cause or another that he didn’t give a whit about; no more bible thumpers come to tell him that their God was better than his…

He tugged on the freshly-secured board.  It didn’t budge.  He reached for another.  Damn, it was hot and he ached all over but, determined to finish today, he pushed through the discomfort. 

No more pesty campaign workers banging on his door.  How he’d come to hate elections.  Wasn’t nobody’s business who he was gonna vote for…

When he had finally nailed the last nail into the last plank of the last side of the six-foot fence that now encased his yard he took a rag from his overalls pocket and wiped the sweat from his neck and face.  Stepping back to view his work, he nodded with satisfaction.

Yep.  That would do it. 

His thirst was mighty.  The boys ought to be filling the bar stools at Arnie’s right about now.  He’d earned himself a cold one.  Couple of them, in fact.  He turned to walk out of his yard and head down the block. 

It was then that he discovered the one major flaw in his efforts.  

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