By Justice Korbin Minotaur (with negligible assistance from Lady I. Dorothy Cottonmouth)
You know how on cologne commercials or in movies, sometimes it will show a woman wearing a man’s dress shirt and thinking of him? You can’t actually see it as a viewer, but generally those shirts have been warmed in a clothes drier.
By Lady I. Dorothy Cottonmouth
Scientifica factualis: According to the U.S. Bureau of Gas Station Statistics, all of the gas stations in the United States of America, the nation that surrounds and makes an island of our glorious nation-state of New Salem, combined to sell twenty-seven pieces of fruit in the year ending 2013. Of those twenty-seven pieces of fruit, it is estimated that six were still fresh at the time of purchase.
By Lady I. Dorothy Cottonmouth
1. Though Kool-Aid commercials started using a computer-generated Kool-Aid Man in 1994 and therefore stopped using a live-action character, the Kool-Aid Man costume is still moist on the inside from perspiration.
The costume could reach temperatures of 165 degrees on the inside after just an hour of use.
2. In the books listed in the Consensus Top 100 Books Ever Written, the word “fudge” is not mentioned a single time. Deal with it, fudge industry!
When Lady I. Dorothy Cottonmouth was over yesterday taking tintypes of the newborn burro (since christened Hiawatha Self-Howitzer), Justice Minotaur asked if she would be willing to write a regular column for this blog. He said this would hopefully “spice up” what has become a “bland and loathsome brew,” but secretly Mr. Cornwall believes Minotaur is trying to court her. In any case, the new department, to be called “Scientifica Factualis,” aims, in the words of Cottonmouth, to “throw off the cloak of subjectivity and self-centered indulgence that are the stock in trade of personal blogs and provide only those glimpses into quotidian life that are factual, concise, and broadly representative.”
It is intended that Cottonmouth will provide her copy to Cornwall, who, despite Minotaur’s alleged disappointment with the blog, is still the only one he is willing to share the password with (hint: it is the name of an American vice president–the hackers will never guess it!). Cornwall will then post the copy here. He has been charged to post it “ungarnished and without misrepresentation.” The first installment follows.
I went to a Burger King restaurant today, restaurant number 1512. This is the franchise that has recently cut ties with the fictional mascot-king who was its uncertain, awkward, and sometimes disturbing standard-bearer for so many years. I was there twelve hours and three minutes. I sat in an uncomfortable chair as close to the cash registers as possible, observing as much as I could. I had to go to the bathroom really bad because I had quaffed a half-gallon of buttermilk before arriving and then kept drinking steadily thereafter. They have one of the new Coke machines that mixes the different flavors for you. I believe the machine has taken my agency from me. But I did not want to get up; did not want to miss a moment.
Scientifica factualis: Of the thirteen people who ordered the Big King hamburger sandwich in this period in the dining room, twelve of them ordered it using this precise wording: “Oh, what the heck, I guess I’ll take the Big King.”