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Friday, March 16, 2012

sketch carnival round-up 9

Nine weeks.
NINE.
WEEKS.
That's one less than ten weeks, and ten weeks is significant because it's two digits, and thus the limit of my counting ability.

Beer break. It's hard work, having such a nice mustache.

Psiking. That doesn't stand for king of psychologists, although I suppose it might.

Pump tower or something. It definitely towers, and it most likely pumps. I think.

Lost. In ze swamp. The tentacly eyeball monster is totally offering directions, but you know men and asking for directions.

Do not talk to the giant head. Do not look at the giant head. I mean, you can, but it doesn't care. At all. You'd think it would be a little more excited to have an astronaut sitting next to it, but the head's like "pssssht, naw" Way too cool to care, that giant head.

On customs forms, that gun is classified as a mechanical back scratcher. The fact that it can scratch backs from a mile away is a mere technicality.

This is what the roomba of the future will look like.


I thought that since there were six last week, there would be eight this week. Clearly I do not understand how to shuffle a schedule.




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