Rose Printed Sheets

Dillburg County

Rose Printed Bed Sheets



I took the whole day off to buy house stuff.  I guess technically that’s ‘home goods’, but that reminds me of scented candles and floral curtains.  I’m too young for curtains.

After looking through all the possible bed sheet options provided (there were three) I chose the package with roses printed on the front.  The roses were large – they had big red swirly petals that looked as if they covered the entire sheet.  They didn’t.

I stretched the sheets over my bed, but they turned out to be larger than ‘twin’.  Instead of smooth sheets, I got saggy wrinkles and folds.  I’m also too young to have that description in my bedroom.

The roses were much smaller than they looked on the box.  They look like little tulips.  I’m much too old for tulips.

The upshot: they were $6 with tax.



Why are women so stuck on age?  If she is really as young as she makes herself out to be, why bother talking about it?  Girls always complain that men don’t have to worry about getting old, but that’s bullshit.

Sure, the eye wrinkles make us look like a wise captain of a ship or whatever, but if you don’t end up with Clooney hair – you’re fucked.  Most of us end up like George Costanza and if we’re not fat by 40, we’ve got some kind of physical problem.  Like liver disease.

I don’t have any sympathy for aging women.  They know where they stand and it’s not on me.  Nothing’s worse than a drunk college chick screaming Baby Got Back as if she heard it on the charts.

Elizabeth Goodletter doesn’t need sheets.  She needs a comforter.



Blue Swivel Office Chair

Dillburg County

Blue Swivel Office Chair




It’s cheerful, I can say that much. Even if you aren’t happy sitting in a hard plastic office chair hour after hour, the chair is. It’s almost smug with the promise of a whimsical work environment. Teal blue doesn’t scream ‘serious’.

Why are there holes in the back of office chairs? Do they think my back is going to flood with sweat from agonizing over each Excel sheet? Perhaps the strain is too much for a cloth chair.  Nobody wants employees to get too comfortable.



Today I stocked 145 packages of individually-wrapped strips of bacon. The meat looks disgusting up close.  After several bacon boxes, I started wondering exactly which strips came off what part of the pig.

The pig pot-holder she reviewed last week gives no indication of a slaughtered future. Its pressed-in nose gets away with being cute while the rest of us make do with our less-than attractive faults.  I’ve come to terms with mine.  If I was a strip of bacon, I wonder how many people would feign shock from the physical contrast of living flesh verses fried. I doubt ElizabethGoodletter’s stars would align.

Animal Silicone Pot Holders



Dillburg County                     January 23rd, 2014,

Animal Pot Holders




Today I bought several animal pot holders at Now We’re Cookin’ because they were on sale. I don’t actually cook since I work so late, but I thought the pink piggy would inspire me. For my first meal I cooked a delicious stew that I’ve already made before. Just as I was getting ready to open the pot, I felt something burning against my hand. I looked down and Piggy had completely melted.


Not only did Pig not protect my hand from the scalding pot handle, but a melted texture I can only describe as synthetic flesh, stuck to both fingers and pot. I immediately ran to the sink so I could wash off the rest of the melted pig, but even water couldn’t scrape off whatever ‘silicone’ had glued itself to my skin.


I tried taking back Alligator and Bear, but the store said they were nothing without the pig. No refund was given. No store credit was offered.



Elizabeth Goodletter has mentioned twice now that she works late. Productivity bragging seems to be a fad among many people, especially women. How many times have I overheard a friend’s stay-at-home wife complain about all the errands she had to run? It seems like the less busy a person is, the more worn out they act.

This is why Elizabeth works at a tiny desk in a tiny office for a tiny company that’s really a ‘group’. Her boss, a man with a lot of money and a lot of failed businesses, must call his businesses ‘groups’ because ‘company’ seems like a ridiculous optimism given his past. I’m sure the busiest time of Elizabeth’s work day is when the Christmas party stretches past six pm.

I understand the loneliness of cooking for one. Why bother when it’s just yourself? As a man, I would feel bizarre grocery shopping for cumin or paprika knowing that nobody else would eat it. It’s like taking a bath. If Elizabeth were in my bathtub, I’d indulge in a heartbeat. Otherwise, I’d feel the dull pressure of guilt pressing against my conscience.

You should be doing something else.

RoadKillers Cafe (1)

Dillburg County      January 12, 2014,

RoadKillers Cafe


$10-20 entre


I don’t like that I have to use full stars to rate places.  It seems unfair.  To give RoadKillers Cafe only one star makes it seem like I’m mean or stuck up.  If I was truly stuck up, I wouldn’t even eat at a place with the word RoadKillers in it.  But that’s not the case – I’m willing to try anything once.

If I could really give this a proper rating, it would be a 1 1/2 star experience.  I say half-star because the waitress with huge boobs did tell me that’s where half her money came from.  I’ve always appreciated honesty.  Even if hints of restaurant-prostitution do make my insides tilt.  Donna was quick, didn’t forget my a1 sauce (or chastise me for ‘ruining the steak’) or Diet Sprite, and didn’t seem to mind when I took an extra long time ordering dessert.

As for the meal itself, quite disappointing.  Perhaps if I had company I would at least find distraction from the runny mashed potatoes or the red (yes, red!) layer of meat inside the steak.  Since I was heading home from a late night at work however, there was no such relief.  At least something is open at 9:30 besides the McDonalds.



Elizabeth Goodletter is definitely not her name.  The syllables and words (good letter?) are too goody-goody to actually be real.  The kind of woman who names herself Elizabeth Goodletter, has to be bad.

There are multiple different types of bad, but for women there are only two:

1.) The kind of bad that tries to be wicked.  Girls who smack men in public.  Girls who swear when they don’t need to.   Girls who wear black when it’s summer.

And 2.)  Women who are comfortable.  They could wear summer skirts on dates to the movies or make a home-made potato salad for a neighbor, but they don’t.  They’d rather stay at home in their pajamas and wait for their ‘filled-out around the middle’ husband to make a familiar pass from under the covers.  They never feel bad turning him down.