#spokeskids

[shpadoinkle-day]

'South' creators do it for laughs

By Don Aucoin, Globe Staff, 01/20/98

PASADENA, Calif. - How hot is ''South Park,'' the cartoon series that

treats scatology and theology with equally subversive glee?

So hot that Comedy Central just signed up its 100th advertiser for the

show. So hot that some barrooms now feature ''South Park Night,''

structured around the show's Wednesday 10 p.m. time slot.

So hot that actor David Caruso, whose career choices were lampooned on

''South Park,'' has become the latest in a parade of celebrities to ask

if he can do a guest-voice shot - and ''South Park'' creators Trey

Parker and Matt Stone aren't sure they're interested.

''We only do the big stars,'' Parker explained drily.

Pretty heady stuff for a couple of guys who started out just trying to

make each other laugh by creating a show about the gross-out

misadventures of four foul-mouthed third-graders and ended up with a

certified cult hit.

Lately, ''South Park'' has gained notoriety for its talking turd called

Mr. Hankey, the Christmas Poo. An upcoming storyline will pit Jesus vs.

Satan on pay-per-view TV. Another episode is titled ''Cartman's Mom is a

Dirty Slut.''

''We are not in the business of offending people,'' Parker said. ''We

are in the business of telling stories.... What this has all been about

since Matt and I started was making each other laugh. We don't sit

around and think, `How far can we go? How outrageous can we be?' ''

What makes Parker and Stone laugh makes some cringe, especially when

they consider the impact on young children who increasingly are tuning

in to watch Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and the rest of the scabrous gang on

''South Park.''

The 28-year-old Parker emphasized that ''we're not making the show for

kids; we're making the show for people our age.'' However, he and Stone

said they are not bothered by the prospect of youngsters watching it,

maintaining that many aged 10 and up are on the same wavelength as the

show's humor. Shrugged Stone, 26: ''We don't think kids are going to

learn any words they don't already say 800 times a day on the

playground.''

Nor does Parker understand objections about the depiction of Jesus

Christ as a regular character in ''South Park.'' ''We have Jesus on our

show and he's a good guy and tries to get people to follow him, so I

don't know what they have to protest about,'' he said.

Parker likened the show to ''Monty Python's Flying Circus,'' a key early

influence on him and Stone, and said that even the grossest gags are

subordinate to stories with a point. For instance, he maintains that the

talking-poop episode chiefly revolved around the feelings of exclusion felt on

Christmas Day by Kyle, who is Jewish.

(By the way, Parker heatedly rejects ''Ren & Stimpy'' cartoonist John

Kricfalusi's claim that the duo stole the idea of a talking-poop

character from him. Parker said he created the character five years

ago.)

These are salad days for Parker and Stone, two University of Colorado

graduates, who yesterday wore Denver Broncos jerseys (and predicted

victory for the Broncos in the Super Bowl this Sunday).

''South Park'' has clearly caught the hard-to-define but all-important

buzz. Animation kingpin Mike Judge (''Beavis and Butt-head,'' ''King of

the Hill'') has praised it, and a major soft-drink manufacturer even

tried to land Kyle, Stan et. al. as spokeskids (a request Stone and

Parker rebuffed).

By Comedy Central standards, ''South Park'' is a ratings winner, and it

has become a favorite of many TV critics - though not all. In the Jan.

16 Entertainment Weekly, respected critic Ken Tucker yawns: ''`South

Park' is the essence of a novelty act. If you've seen one episode,

you've seen 'em all.''

Parker and Stone may be too busy to notice brickbats. In addition to

their work on the show, for which they provide many of the voices, they

are starring in an upcoming feature film with the Zucker brothers of

''Airplane!'' fame.

Then there are all those pesky calls from celebrities who want to be on

''South Park,'' perhaps in a tribute to the show's satiric power.

''I don't know if they just wanted to do a voice before we ripped on

them,'' mused Parker. ''So we started thinking, OK, who do we want to

meet?''

This story ran on page C08 of the Boston Globe on 01/20/98.

© Copyright 1997 Globe Newspaper Company.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Touches ask game :)

8. shielding the other one with their body

Or

49. Holding onto the other's shoulder for support

Virgil and Alan please! :)

A Big Brother Too

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Virgil, Alan

My tricky boys again!  Time to leave my comfort zone and give these two some love and attention (which is not always a good thing when it comes to Tsari, but we’ll see how this ends up, I suppose).

Also time to find yet another take on the shielding prompt, because I love it.

Touches Ask Game

Scott wasn’t there.  Virgil knew that, but he still instinctively looked around for their eldest brother, half-expecting him to materialise out of nowhere.  After all, there was a little brother in trouble, so it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to miraculously appear.

But Scott wasn’t there, no matter how much Virgil might have wished he was, but Virgil was, and just because he wasn’t Scott didn’t mean he wasn’t Alan’s big brother.

“Hey,” he said, feeling larger than usual as the assailants all turned their attention to him.  Virgil wasn’t used to being the tallest, but when he was surrounded by a bunch of preteens with neither of his big brothers in sight, he was head and shoulders above everyone else. “What are you doing?”

“Virgil!”  Alan scrambled to his feet, one eye already purpling.  Virgil hadn’t seen who - or what - had caused it, but he didn’t need to know specifics to know it hadn’t been an accident and that the crowd of presumably eleven to twelve year olds contained the culprit.

There were some things that seemed universal, and despite everything else in their life, one of those constants was bullies.  Virgil had been picked on in his childhood, he was fairly sure John had, too, and while Gordon had been quick to prove why picking on him was a bad idea, even the fish had found himself on the receiving end once or twice.  Alan seemed to be no exception, and despite Virgil’s preference for staying out of trouble, he wasn’t going to stand back and watch.

“Well?” he demanded, striding through the gathering until he was standing directly in front of Alan, his little brother safely ensconced behind his bulk.  “I asked a question.”

The kids looked at each other, none of them seeming willing to answer.  Virgil crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Jus’ playin’,” one eventually muttered sullenly.

“Playing?” Virgil repeated, and watched the kids shuffle awkwardly.  Behind him, he could feel Alan pressing against him, not yet old enough to protest at big brothers fighting his battles for him.  Then again, none of them were old enough for that, except maybe Gordon and the fiery temper he shared with their biggest brother.  “Is this your idea of fun?”

They shuffled around some more in front of him.  Some of the kids on the fringe of the group melted into the background, clearly deciding they didn’t want to hang around any longer.  Virgil let them go.

“No?”  The fact that it was a question told him that the designated spokeskid knew they were in the wrong.

“Then you won’t be doing this again?”

The entire cohort shook their heads, even if some of them still looked slightly mulish.  Virgil decided that would do for now and turned his back on them, looking down at his little brother, whose blue eyes were wide.

“Come on, Allie,” he coaxed, putting an arm on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

Alan nodded, a small smile forming on his face.  Virgil glanced over him to make sure he wasn’t too badly hurt before guiding him away.

“Coward!”

The call was a violent hiss.  Virgil paused, a frown settling over his face.

“Hiding behind your brother.”

“Wimp.”

Beside him, Alan twisted in his hold, wriggling free and turning back to look at his tormentors.

“Al-”

“You’re just jealous,” his little brother retorted, back straight and looking nothing like the victim he’d been moments earlier.  The change was somewhat startling.  “You wish you had big brothers as awesome as mine.”

Something warm and fuzzy curled up in Virgil’s chest and he smiled down at Alan, who caught the look and returned it.

“Come on, Virgil.”  A small, skinny arm reached up until it was gripping his shoulder.  “Let’s go.”

Slightly surprised, but mostly bemused at Alan’s apparent change in attitude, Virgil let the small blond lead him away, stooping down slightly so he didn’t have to strain quite so much to reach his shoulder.

“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly once the kids were out of earshot.  Alan shrugged.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said, all sunshine smile.  The bruise forming around his eye contradicted those words, and Virgil was dreading Scott’s reaction when he saw it, but Alan didn’t seem to care about it at all.  Not even a stumble over what Virgil quickly ascertained was just a pebble he’d caught wrong seemed to phase his brother - although Virgil’s shoulder found itself caught in a death grip as Alan tried not to fall over.

“I’m still checking you over when we get home,” he said, and Alan sighed.

“I’m fine, Virgil.”

The words were familiar, carbon copies of one of Scott’s favourite phrases when he came back covered in bruises from a training session gone wrong, and Virgil rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.11 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Stretch finally has Edge's address, but as always seems to happen in this town, answering one question only makes two more spring up to take its place.

Read ‘Unconventional Wisdom’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

The dog spent all morning napping behind the counter, not rising for broom bristles nudging him nor Stretch stepping over him awkwardly so he could grab a few boxes from the top shelf to fill up the front racks. He did snore loud enough to be heard over the radio, but eh, so did Red so Stretch was used to it.

It wasn’t until the jangling cowbell over the door heralded the arrival of a group of kids that the pup gave up on his snoring and wandering out to inspect the new arrivals, tail already happily wagging. Predictably, the kiddos were enamored of their newest employee, although guard dog might be overstating things a bit. Okay, maybe a lot; it looked like Red hadn’t been able to get back to sleep last night because the once-filthy dog with a mess of tangled fur was now freshly washed and brushed, and he smelled a lot like the shower gel from Red’s bathroom. Cleaned up, he was a handsome dog, looking as fluffy as an enormous toasted marshmallow. Not exactly threatening, fluffykins here was probably gonna spend most of his shift on moral support duty.

The little girl who was currently the main recipient of the dog’s enthusiastic face licking giggled and asked, “What’s his name?”

“uh.” That gave Stretch a pause. He shrugged. “doesn’t have a name yet, i’ll have to ask red what he thinks.”

“Should name him Rover,” one boy put in helpfully.

Another boy chimed in, “Or Bingo!”

“Cheeseburger!” A little gal firmly declared as though no other name would do and Stretch couldn’t help laughing.

“is that a name suggestion or a lunch request?” he teased. All the kids giggled, including the one who’d suggested the name and Stretch gave one of her pigtails a gentle tug. “tell you what, here.�� He pulled out a pad of paper from under the counter, flipped past the pages filled with inventory lists and cribbage scores to a blank one and wrote carefully at the top, ‘Name Our Dog’. He set it in one corner of the counter triumphantly, “there! now anyone can suggest a name and red can choose the best one.”

All the kids seemed in agreement that this was the best course of action, each taking a turn to scribble their suggestion on the sheet. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if ‘Cheeseburger’ was at the top of Red’s picks.

The kids eventually abandoned the dog and started a round of intense negotiations over what penny treats to buy today. Stretch left them to it, settling to sit on the stool to wait for them to bring up their selections to the register. His mind wandered idly back to newest side quest: getting to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

He’d already tried to look the address up on his phone’s GPS and wasn’t too surprised to see that it didn’t come up, naw, that would be too easy. So, first was figuring out how to get there and second would be figuring out how to get there. Not like he had a car and somehow, he doubted that Backwater had a thriving Uber economy. Maybe he could hitch a lift with someone? People were always coming into town in those big ol’ pickup trucks and the folks around here were pretty friendly, plus Edge seemed to be pretty well known. They all probably knew exactly where Edge lived and stopped by for pie and tea all the time. Surely someone would be delighted to help out, particularly if they were one of the lookie-loos from Mama’s who wanted to see Stretch and Edge on another man date, thank-you-but-no-thank-you.

That would probably be the easiest way to go about it, but Stretch found he was strangely reluctant to take that route. It felt a little like cheating, considering the roundabout way Edge went about handed out his address.

Anyway, if he’d wanted to go down that path, he could’ve simply asked Red days ago, but that right there was an entirely different can of worms that he didn’t want to share with any of the early birds. Red never forbade him from hanging out with Edge, but he’d been pretty clear time and again that he wasn’t too keen on it, either. Might be best if he kept any mentions of Edge to a minimum unless Red brought him up first.

He’d just figure it out himself, thanks, and he wasn’t any puzzle master, not like his bro was, but he had a little pride buried around here somewhere. Edge set him a challenge, damn it, and he was gonna see it through.

His absent gaze strayed down to the pile of bicycles outside the store, kid-sized, sure, but hey, wait a second—

“hey, guys,” Stretch said slowly, and the debate on whether to get two packs of everlasting gobstoppers or three paused as a half-dozen heads perked up like prairie dogs from a sugary plain. “if i wanted to buy a bicycle around here, where would i go?”

Heads ducked down again in a hastily whispered conversation, then the spokeskid popped up again and said, decisively, “Try over at the thrift shop. Miss Maggie always has old bikes for sale.”

“thanks.” He should’ve known. The only other option right in town was the tractor supply shop and while driving up on a John Deere would make a hell of an impression, it was probably well out of his price range. The kids crowded over with their handfuls of spoils and Stretch dutifully rang them up and if he tossed in a dime of his own to cover them, eh, wasn’t like they’d ever know. He handed over a paper sack of treats to a chorus of thank yous and the divvying began before the kiddos even got out of the shop.

“Oh, Edgar Allen said to tell you hi!” One little girl called back to him. She was gone out of the door before he could even think of a reply, all of them clamoring onto their bikes, their faces chipmunk-cheeked with their spoils.

Edgar Allen, shit, yeah, that was right. He’d pretty much been the first stop on this questline and Stretch’d been meaning to do something for him. He’d already rethought the magazine idea; what if it turned out that scarecrows couldn’t read, kinda insensitive there. He’d have to think of something, though, owing someone didn’t sit well with him even if that person didn’t qualify for traditionally alive.

In the meantime, the dog, bereft of childish companionship, wandered back behind the counter and flopped down with a huff, sighing deeply.

“yeah, go on and take a break,” Stretch told him, “you were working pretty hard there.” He stretched out a leg to pet the dog carefully with his foot and wasn’t too surprised that it didn’t care one bit about his shoe, only pliantly rolled over to give him better access to the belly region.

Stretch obediently kept petting, hell, he obeyed better than the dog. But his thoughts were still on the upcoming journey to 637 Wood’s End Drive.

~~*~~

Red relieved him in the shop a little later than normal, looking a lot like he’d just hauled ass out of bed. His shirt was the same one as earlier, only with a fresh crop of wrinkles and his eye lights were still bleary with exhaustion.

Almost, Stretch offered to stay later and let Red get a little more sleep, considering it was his fault Red got woken up in the middle of night. But the baleful glare Red sent his way was an unspoken warning that such an offer probably wasn’t gonna go over well. He kept his jaw shut tight and took the paper sandwich bag Red handed over before heading out the door. Time to get this side quest rolling, literally, he hoped.

The few times he’d met Magdalen May he’d figured right from the get-go that she, like Red, was a partaker of the Sheriff’s son’s prize cannabis crop. Not only because of her dreamy demeanor but also whenever she came into the store, she was surrounded by an almost visible cloud of pot stank so strong that Stretch got a contact buzz while she was shopping through the meagre selection of yarn that Red kept. By the time she left, Stretch would have a craving for Cheetos so strong he’d be ready to start gnawing on his fingerbones for a cronch.

Stepping into the thrift shop was a little like hot boxing in a hoarder’s closet but Stretch soldiered on, squinting as his vision adjusted from the bright light of day to a dimness barely above attic-levels. He went past shelves of gewgaws and boxes of dusty records, old clothes hanging from racks that looked like they’d been commandeered from a lot of remaindered furniture. There were tables piled high with ancient radios, cameras, electronics that Stretch didn’t know the name of and surely didn’t work, existing only to be parted out by an amateur scientist or an electrician in search of cheap parts. Antique glass was set high on the shelves, catching dusty light and sending a kaleidoscope of color to scatter over the room, freckling it in greens, reds, and yellows.

The entire store radiated a glorious sort of chaos and if it weren’t for the fact that he already felt a little woozy, he would’ve stayed for a while and poked through some of the wares. Maybe even find a new book for Red buried in the nearby piles, see if he’d be willing branch out into cowboy romance for a change.

He heading to the back of the shop where Miss Maggie was sitting in a rocking chair surrounded by boxes and shelves, knitting with flashing speed despite the foggy miasma hanging in the air. Her long white hair was smoothly braided and pinned up on top of her head, her weathered skin tanned dark and leathery. The weave of bright yellow yarn trailing from her needles was spread across her lap in an incongruous contrast to her dark, billowing skirt and the light sweater she wore against the chill of the air conditioning.

“Hello, Papyrus,” she greeted him with the sort of rough, croaky voice made over the years by a thousand packs of Marlboros. She didn’t look up, her attention completely focused on her knit and purl.

That gave him one hell of a pause. “how did you—” Stretch stopped. Great, he was in the soothsayer chapter and hadn’t even had time to prep. Yeah, okay, he didn’t really have any room in his life for another side quest, maybe let this one go. He didn’t actually want to know where she got her intel, not really, especially not with his head already spinning a little. He stuck his hands in his pockets to hide the way they wanted to curl into fists, rocking back and forth on his heels. “heya. i haven’t gone by papyrus in years, it’s stretch, thanks.”

“A wise choice,” Miss Maggie said. She sounded…different, somehow. He’d talked to her a few times now and strangely, today he couldn’t seem to place her accent. It wasn’t like the other townsfolk, all of them had a certain warm, down-homey charm, and usually so did she. Her words today were crisp, sharp-edged, nothing like the dreamy peace he was familiar with when she came into the store for coffee creamer and vanilla wafers. She glanced up at him over the wire rims of her glasses, her gaze as sharp as her tongue. “Names have power. A wise man keeps his true name to himself.”

“um. sure,” Stretch couldn’t stop himself from giving the door a longing glance. This was starting to seem like a bad idea, Miss Maggie seemed to be having a personality crisis, maybe he should come back after lunch. “that’s some very handy wisdom, but i’m here about a bike?”

She ignored that. “You have issues with names,” Miss Maggie told him. She kept knitting, needles flashing furiously in a rhythmic clickity-clack as steady as a metronome. “don’t you.”

“huh?” Stretch didn’t exactly have any flesh to get goosebumps with, but he felt a chill nonetheless, prickling maddeningly over his bones. His head was whirling, everything around him seemed to blur except the old woman in front of him. His tongue felt strangely thick as he whispered a question he didn’t want to ask, “i don’t…what do you mean?”

“Mmm, yes,” Miss Maggie sighed out, “so many names you’ve had and rejected. Had and left behind when you ran away, far, far away.”

“stop,” Stretch said weakly. His soul was starting to pulse with aching intensity behind his breastbone. The room filled with an electric heaviness like a coming storm, the rich green smell filling the room suddenly nauseating. “please, don’t.”

“Brother, lover, yes, but never father, not even once.”

“shut up,” Stretch said thickly. Or tried to, the words seemed to clot and stick at the back of his throat, refusing to travel over his useless tongue.

“And now you’re taking on new names,” she raised her head, and here in the dim, her eyes seemed like dark pools of pure blackness that reflected nothing of the flickering overhead lights. Her grin seemed unpleasant and wide, showing pale pink gums in an endless maw. “Is it friend you seek or something else, I wonder?”

As she turned towards him, her sleeve caught on the sugar bowl set on the table next to her, sending it tumbling to the floor. The burst of sound as it shattered pushed through his dazed distance like the snap of dry twig broken over a knee. Stretch jerked, blinking hard, and all the nebulous emotion in him surged forward, gathering and coalescing into real anger. He was starting to get sick of this shit, if everyone in town wanted to act like this place was Sleepy Hollow’s second-cousin, that was fine by him. He was happy to play along, but not if they were gonna keep sticking their shovels into his past to see what other skeletons they could dig up.

“look, fuck you,” Stretch snapped out. He turned back to the door, tossing over his shoulder. “never mind, i’ll figure out something else!”

“Wait!” And he didn’t want to wait, he wanted to push on through the door, but his stubborn feet suddenly refused to move. Miss Maggie clumsily thrust aside her knitting, hardly noticing her teacup wobbling, spilling tea and leaves out into her saucer in a wild splash. That funky weird woman vibe abruptly eased and so did some of the stench in the air, flavored instead with lavender tea. She waddled over to him, her long skirt dragging on the floor. Even bent over with age, she was impressively tall, hardly shorter than Stretch was, and he was a mini-skyscraper to most Humans. She looked up at him, her eyes a watery, pale blue, surrounded by a sea of wrinkles, how could he ever have imagined they were anything else?

Miss Maggie reached up to touch his cheekbone with fingers nearly as thin as his own.

“Oh, sweet child,” she said with mournful gentleness, and her voice was the smoky-sweet, grandmotherly one he recalled. “S’all right. Ain’t nothing wrong with setting aside a name you’ve outgrown, nor in taking on a new one.”

All his bright, burning anger collapsed inwardly, a card house with the center support removed, and hurt welled in him instead. He was crying, he realized distantly, tears stinging in his sockets, running down his cheekbones to gather on wetly his chin. He didn’t realize he was going to speak until he did, choking out, “it feels wrong.”

“How you feel and how things are don’t always match,” she agreed. She held out her arms, her gnarled hands open to him and Stretch leaned into them, burying his face in the soft, knitted shawl draped over her shoulder. She smelled like weed and lavender, a strange, exotic mixture. “i’ll get you all wet,” Stretch mumbled, muffled into the cloth.

She petted his skull gently, “It’s all right, child. I’ll dry.”

He held on tightly for a long time and when she finally drew back, she lightly touched his forehead with the tips of two dry fingers.

“You can get to his home through the forest,” she said, and it seemed to Stretch he could almost see it, clear as a picture someplace behind his sight. “Follow the exchange down about a mile, you’ll see a turnoff on the left. Don’t you stray from the path, you hear me, sonny?” Those pale, rheumy eyes searched his face for understanding. “Easy to get lost out there.”

“i won’t.”

“Good.” She let him go and shuffled back to her chair to picked up her knitting again. “Now, you mentioned something about a bike.”

For a moment, Stretch stood there, practically wobbling on his feet. He felt like he’d woken up from an unexpected nap, still floating in between the sleeping and waking worlds. Then he blinked, snapping awake, and looked around almost wildly. Until his gaze snagging on one of the shelves, or more specifically, something sitting on it, and held.

“a bike, i did.” Stretch walked over to the shelf where a bandana was sitting, a bright turkey-red plaid, and picked it up, holding it out for Miss Maggie to see. “how much for this, too?”

By the time he left the shop, he was in a fine mood despite his savings being a little lighter. He was pushing a rattly old bike with a squeaky chain and a horn that let loose with a hoarse ‘awhooga’ when the dusty rubber bulb was squeezed. The bandana was stuffed into his short’s pocket and the first thing he was gonna do was deal with that, then he’d worry about some maintenance. Probably better to find out if his new bike was streetworthy before taking his act on the road.

He used the walk back to the store to draw in a few deep, refreshing breaths of the heat-smoggy air, letting it clear his head.

“miss maggie sure smokes some strong shit,” Stretch muttered to himself. He left the bike leaning against the porch around back and headed over to the main road, taking his normal walking route down towards the corn. There were no kids on the makeshift baseball diamond today, looked like they’d headed off somewhere else to enjoy their penny candy.

The grass was yellowed and dying under his sneakers as he went off the beaten path, heading towards the rustling corn. Was it his imagination, or did those whispers get louder as he approached, even eager? The corn got lonely sometimes, Edgar Allen had said, but it didn’t mean any harm.

Somehow, he didn’t think the skeleton they’d found in the fields back in Doris’s day would agree.

“um, hi?” Stretch tried. There was no one around to see him and he still felt ridiculous, talking to the damn corn. “look, i dunno if you can understand me, but if you do, could you see that edgar allen gets this? i wanted to thank him for helping me out and i thought it’d look good on him.”

Carefully, he laid the bandana over a crux of green leaves and stalk, tugging to make sure it wouldn’t simply blow away. He left it there and turned back to town, hoping that the scarecrow got the message; as much as he wanted to thank the guy, he really didn’t feel like taking a second go in the corn maze to do it. He didn’t look back until he got back to the side of the road and there he paused, frowning. The splash of red should’ve been vivid against the sea of green but there was nothing, not so much as a glimpse.

He craned his neck, searching, but it hadn’t fallen to the ground and the wind wasn’t strong enough to carry it off. Maybe the corn had gotten the message after all? Yeah, he was going with that, and he headed back to take a look at his new bike, hands in his pockets and whistling cheerfully, which was a heck of a trick for someone without lips.

Yeah, he felt pretty good today and why not? He had a place to stay, a job, someone looking after him, and a dog. And now he had a bike. Things were looking up, Stretch decided.

Things were looking up.

~~*~~

tbc

[beefstatic]

3 am Grocery Trip

Starring Eddie Mahoney

I’m still taking slice of life prompts!! I’m having fun :D

---

Eddie Mahoney blinks lazily at the two boxes in her hands. Store Brand Chew Puffs and the real deal Chew Puffs. The store brand cereal is cheaper with comparative ingredients and taste… but you just can’t beat the original. Now, Eddie is a practical private investigator. She’d gladly save a couple bucks, you know? But this ain’t for Eddie. Eddie isn’t picky. No, she ain’t picky like that kid of hers is. Junior might as well be a little spokeskid for Chew Puffs with how much the kid loves the stuff.

And it wasn’t until tonight that Dominique realized they’d run out.

So, of course, seein’ as Eddie never sleeps anyway, the ol’ wife had sent her out on a grocery run. At three in the morning. Not ideal, but it beats following a chump cheating on his wife and having to break the bad news to her at three in the morning. Oy.

Relenting, the Chew Puffs enter the grocery cart unceremoniously, and Eddie moves on to the rest of the list Dominique had given her. She chews on the end of an unlit cigar, eyes glazing over price tags and aisle signs.

Green beans, eggs, tortillas, pasta… didn’t Dominique wanna get a potato salad made for that work party of hers? Better get some potatoes just in case. Hot sauce, ground pork, bread, condensed milk. Jeez this lady is killin’ her. Why’s she always writing novels for her grocery lists? Dominique’s writing has always been better than her own. Probably why she’s published books, and writes in newspapers. Makes a girl jealous sometimes. Eh. Writing ain’t Eddie’s thing.

Eddie yawns, tossing a final can of corn into the cart, and heading to check out. 3 am at the Dugmart isn’t all the unfamiliar of a scene. Eddie’s here often enough for her to recognize the cashiers and the occasional stocker. Radio plays like distant heavenly angels, if the angels were country pop and had an obsession with love and boyfriends. Oy. This new music ain’t for her.

Groceries bought and bagged, Eddie walks out into the night.

No clouds, no stars. Not with the parking lot lights. She takes a moment to light her cigar and begins the walk home with her bags. She smiles, thinking of Eddie’s face when they see the brand new box of Chew Puffs. Ah, that kid’ll be the death of her. She’s going soft.

But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

[darkmountainarts]

🎿🎿 Got the twins some skis & lessons for their 10th birthday......Happy Birthday to my mini-DarkMountainArts-spokeskids! 😄 🗻 https://www.darkmountainarts.com 🗻 🌐ART FOR ADVENTURERS🌐 #DarkMountainArts . . . . . #kidsskiing #skiingwithkids #kidsski #skikids #skiingwithmykids #skiinglessons #westmountain #skinewyork #skiingforlife #skiingfamily #skiingishard #skiing🎿 #mytwins #boygirltwins #twinsofinstagram #twins👫 #outdoorkids #outdoorkidsarehappykids #outdoorkidsrock #outdoorkidsphotography #mountainkids #adventurekids #kidsadventure #skinortheast #518 #upstatenewyork #upperrughtusa (at West Mountain Ski Area) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9QOMAIn8MA/?igshid=1o8i8rrk3e7ba

[hoshi-neko-hikari]

“Yes! You’ll be the spokeskids for our peanut butter commercial!”

hoshi-neko-hikari​:

“Awww! How cute! How would both like to be our peanut butter kids?”

The little Ishtar blinked. “Peanut buttew kid?” He had asked, tilting his head as his pointy ears moved a bit.

[jerseydeanne]

BTW - JM's daughter is now the spokeskid for a kid's jewelry company. The model.

LOL who cares

[jeramymobley]

Brand News: 10 Things You Need to Know For Thursday May 24

Jordan Brand is in talks to make “Maya Wings” billboard in Minneapolis permanent.

NFL bans kneeling during the national anthem; some players are readying other forms of protest.

Goat soars as Meghan Markle’s first post-wedding fashion choice.

Goyard enjoys quiet prominence as luxury signifier.

Hermès woos Silicon Valley elite to Palo Alto store opening.

Ripple gets a boost with Ashton Kutcher mobile donation to Ellen DeGeneres gorilla sanctuary.

Uber suspends self-driving car tests.

Verizon‘s Oath launches new Ryot Studio content programs.

Victoria’s Secret stumbles.

Wires sustainable eyewear startup takes on Luxottica.

CAMPAIGNS:

Burt’s Bees launches UK campaign to save bees.

Jägermeister partners with DraftKings on bracket-style soccer competition to engage U.S. soccer fans.

Kia Motors America taps spokeskids:

Theranos downfall gets media blitz with Wall Street Journal investigative reporter John Carreyrou’s new book:

Click here for previous news roundups … sign up for our free daily newsletter … and send brand news and tips to editor@brandchannel.com or ping us on Twitter, Facebook or LinkedIn.

The post Brand News: 10 Things You Need to Know For Thursday May 24 appeared first on brandchannel:.

[serenagaywaterford]

i just watched that elián gonzález doc on cnn to prepare/educate/remind myself about it for handmaid’s tale s3.

we all know (assume?) it’s gonna go there. i just hope it doesn’t ultimately end up that way... altho that would certainly be a twist and a mindfuck all in one.

[thesheenboys]

New spokeskid for VTech!

[oselatra]

Cathode ode

There's been an addition to the Observatory lately, one that's so old, it's new again to us — broadcast television.

There's been an addition to the Observatory lately, one that's so old, it's new again to us — broadcast television.

How, you ask, could The Observer not possess the ultimate machine of observation in our own home? It was a matter of attrition. After the changeover of the broadcast signal to digital last decade, our big ol' black box with the chrome rabbit ears on top couldn't receive TV channels anymore (thanks, Obama!). But it was still fine for watching our library of movies and shows on DVD, and, yes, videocassette. So, we coasted for a few years in self-imposed TV broadcast isolation. And though we missed our local channels, there was always something to watch when the mood struck.

The pity family and friends would offer upon seeing our Century 20-era TV, with all its boldly jutting angles, its secret corduroy contours and its ample antiquated girth, was actually touching. One would think we'd taken in a disfigured pet off the street. Eventually, we moved our box of shame to a back room where we could enjoy our aging formats sans sideways glance.

Finally, a family member gifted The Observer with a digital televisual appliance from the near-modern day — one with a screen that doesn't need to zoom out some two feet from the wall (where'd all that inside stuff go?). Dad, you see, had moved on to an ever-thinner, yet still bigger, TV, like the rest of the USA. Like three-fourths of Americans, he also pays for cable TV. But as for us, with the acquisition of a digital TV, we went straight for the digital antenna, aka rabbit ears, aka "free TV," just like we had before the changeover.

Even with the lesser amount of available over-the-air stations compared to cable, there's still so much to observe, and there are still enough channels to do satisfying surfing. There's the AETN channels (which we could live on alone), the local LR network channels and, most intriguingly, the offshoot channels that show old network shows and cheapo movies.

Some nights, it's just comforting to watch Johnny Carson rip Ronnie Reagan a new one instead of laughing through gritted teeth at Stephen Colbert attempting to gain some traction of truth in the slippery Trumperica slough. Sure, stars begrudgingly plug their projects, but they also indulge in gleeful non sequiturs and read poetry from folded sheets of paper; Jimmy Stewart's magnificently recited "I'm A Movie Camera," for one. Carson's guests from the heartland — the grannies who shoot skeet, the grade-school bird-call experts — also soothe. (Today's homespun slingshot marksmen and country's oldest mail carriers must find their 15 minutes of fame making home videos.)

Sitcoms back in the 1970s and 1980s veered out of their lanes interestingly and often. Maude may get an abortion! Barney Miller confronts excessive force by police! Even Alice, when not waitressing at Mel's Diner, takes on college binge-drinking by son Tommy! Don't even get us started on "Soap." And y'all! Get on the trolley — this Jack Benny fellow is going places. And you read it here first — Ms. Gracie Allen is hilarious.

We've by now spent too much time (or is it just the right amount of time?) in thought about the embedded stereotypes and the production values of "Farmers Only" dating service commercials. Then there's the heartbreaking ASPCA and St. Jude's Children's Hospital commercials where we find ourselves punching in credit card numbers through the tears. (We're pulling for you, adorable St. Jude's spokeskid Alec!)

However, this question remains: How many among us actually have a structured settlement and need cash now? If The Observer ever observed our way into a structured settlement, we'd happily retreat back into amateur observation to make way for another comer. But you'd still be able to find our Observatory at night by the blue glow flickering in the windows here on the Little Rock.

Click.

Cathode ode

[dehalogenase]

The spokeskid for shriners hospial is wearing jordans in his ad

#legendsonly

[ryanwoolfolk]

Lil' Cap'n Winkles by MK12 Meet Lil' Cap'n Winkles, the lonely product spokeskid who has lost his way and is forever in search of new products to embellish with his limited talents. Kind of like this: http://bit.ly/2kGeX9S Grab a hi-res version of this clip (with an alpha channel) above by selecting the "ORIGINAL" option when you download. Help Cap'n Winkles find a new home!

[gravepissed-blog1]

“I would be losing my mind.”

x // accepting

              “   okay,   i GET you’re all   -    the spokeskid for  drug free america,  but weed is killer    &    pretty much the only thing keeping me SANE these days. ”

[kidklassblog]

#kidklass #spokeskids take the day off #camp to give #kidvice @today.com #30rock #nbc and see #jimmyfallon band preparing for show

[hoshi-neko-hikari]

“Well, he’s adorable! How would you like it if we made him one of our peanut butter spokeskids?”

hoshi-neko-hikari​:

“Are you his father, sir?”

“Papa.” Maverick squeaked happily, hugging Marik.

@millennium-rings-spirit​