They are opening up a 'Big Boy' restaurant down on Rienheart drive. This makes sense because as we all know there is always the need for another burger joint. If you travel more than a quarter mile without a burger joint your arm would break out in Goosebumps and you would suddenly think you entered the Twilight Zone. 'Whoah! Trippy dude! There's NO burger joints here! I'm freaking out, maaan!'. It has actually been years since I had been in a Big Boy, so I have no idea if I would like than or not. When I was a kid in Tennessee I recall going to one, and during summer camp at the YMCA during various games and activities they used to give out coupons for fries and shakes at the Big Boy for prizes. Basically rewarding any psychical prowess with the chance to fatten up. So, I'll have to wait for it to open and see how it is.
I actually find the Big Boy mascot to be a little disturbing. He is like the god of the Campbell's soup kids. If the soup kids in some way displease him he would bellow out a low rumble and then eat one. He could do it too; you can tell that simply by the burger he is holding up that is larger than his head. If he can eat that thing than a kid would be no problem.
It would actually be quite horrible to wake up in the middle of the night and see the Big Boy icon towering over you. He can hide under your bed by deflating. Then at night when the lights are off and the moon is up and you are laying in bed watching the shadows the tree's outside your window cast on the walls, you would hear a quiet 'ssssssssssssssssssss' noise as the Big Boy icon slithered out of your bed and started to inflate. You would lie there frozen in fear as swelled up to its full size until its head quietly bumps on the ceiling. It would then let out a sinister chuckle and reach down and bite your head off.
Yesterday at lunch I went to the thirftshop to scope out a few goodies. I was trying to find a black and white television, but no luck. I did snag a big ancient daily-wheel brother worse processor. It has a nice sharp orange screen that I am going to try to convert into a wave vessel. It's a shame that the disk format is uses is totally incompatible with windows, its actually a nice word processor. Good sharp screen, decent font, keyboard has a good tactile feel. However, unless I can get the disks only a PC it's useless junk to me.
I also picked up a little sharper image fake fish tank. It's actually pretty neat, you fill it with water and it has these little plastic fishies in it. Hidden magnets inside the case move back and forth and it causes the fishies to swim about, seemingly independent of each other. I have seen fake fish tanks before, but usually they are loud or bubble powered or the fish are attached to a string. This is the first magnetic-powered fish tank I have seen. You can also put a picture behind the fish tank. I think I am going to find a scene from hell and put it in there, so they will be little hell fishies.
Sometimes time seems so short. Last night after work there was a few things I wanted to get done. I actually started as soon as I got home at 6:30. However, the whole 4.5 hours I have after work seems to vanish in a snap. Last night I made chicken broccoli for dinner. The simple act of making that meal, eating it, and then cleaning up afterwards can take well over an hour. If I sneak in 1 hour of television, I am down to simply 2 hours. I spend 1 of it doing some of the things I wanted to do. Then I have only 1 hour left and I realize I have no time left to do the other things I wanted to do, so I just go soak in my hot tub.
Sometimes I envy people who have no hobbies or interests. They can just go home and stare at a blank wall all night and they consider it to be time well spent. Or sports fans. They can sit for two hours and watch grown men play with a ball and that provides them with with enough intellectual and spiritual stimulation that they are perfectly content. The only people who are more content than that have to be retards, simply because they have no cares or worries. Anyone who can shit thier pants and not care simply have to be worry free and void of any laments.
Firing up the infernal chrono-coal burner for April 2006, where Ed fears a deflating mascot and covets a magnetic fish tank.
Ah, 2006. A simpler pit, Ed, where the exciting local news was a Big Boy rising from the asphalt and the most threatening monster in your bedroom was the laminated soup-child god. How quaint. Now a new burger joint is announced by app notification and delivered by a stranger in a car while a ghost kitchen handles the patty; nobody even goes to Rienheart Drive. Thrift stores, meanwhile, have been scraped clean by resellers and repriced like antique malls, and your useless word processor would be a retro status symbol on Instagram instead of junk. The magnetic fish tank still exists, but only as a digital screensaver on a phone you cannot stop staring at. And the four and a half hours after work? Gone, dissolved into streaming queues, subscription reminders, and forty group chats demanding your soul. You envied people with no hobbies; now everyone's hobby is being a podcast about their hobbies. The only thing that has not changed is the sacred truth that processed meat statues still want to eat children. Some rituals are eternal.
“2006 Ed, you called the Big Boy mascot a child-eating inflatable monster but still planned to turn that incompatible word processor into a wave vessel—did you ever get the disks working, or was that project another casualty of the four and a half vanishing evening hours?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, I gotta be honest—no, I never got those disks working. That old word processor is still sitting in the corner like a wounded robot, and every time I glance at it I think, “today’s the day I’ll crack the code,” but then I get home at 6:30, make dinner, clean up, watch maybe one show, and suddenly it’s 11 and I’m in the hot tub wondering where my life went. The fake fish tank got more attention, mostly because I put a little picture of a fiery pit behind it, so now I have hell fishies swimming around in judgment. As for Big Boy, I stand by every word—that mascot is a menace, and if he can eat that giant burger, a kid is nothing but a snack. The disks are still a mystery, and the wave vessel remains a distant dream. Another casualty of the four and a half vanishing hours, I guess. Take that, foul time.
