Ladies, Meet Single Men Now!

Seducing beautiful woman looking at her lover with wine glass.

Ladies, we know how hard it can be to meet eligible bachelors in today’s Hustle-Bustle Machine. Therefore, we at The Superb would like to help you make the connection (LOVE CONNECTION) that will lead to unending and eternal happiness, or at the very least an interesting weekend. Take a look at these fine candidates all running for the office of your heart.

Jonny Lang

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Hey, girl. This is Jonny Lang and I am totally interested in having a relationship-type situation with you. Though, I must issue some caution: Ol’ Jonny has been known to catch the fever now and then, and when Jonny does that, it gets weird. But not for me. It’s just how I like it.

Yup, Ol’ Jonny’s a loose cannon. Sometimes I’ll play one chord and stare at the wall all day. Other times, my body requires more beef jerky than water to operate, and then I throw up everywhere. But the times when I get my girls up there to watch me play….oh yeah. That’s the right time.

See, you gotta be chill with me bringing in my 90’s girls in here, or Ol Jonny’s gonna have to walk. And then you’re gonna see my butt, and you’re gonna know where I make poop out of. Praise God and love me, honey. It’s the only way to fly.

Herb Bentley

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We’ve got a ten car pile up on I-75 coming out of Lexington. Looks like if you’re coming southbound, you’re gonna need to hop off well before the Scott County line. Also, the ongoing construction project on the inner loop of New Circle has shut down one of the lanes, causing a massive headache for anyone trying to get to Richmond Rd, you’ll want to build at least 15 minutes into your travel time for the day. Also, I’d like you to know that I am currently very available, and I prefer women in committed relationships that I can destroy. I don’t know what it is, maybe it has something to do with my dad, I have no answer for this. I just know it excites me more to see a ring on that finger and kids waiting in the car. This is Herb Bentley burning clean Shell gasoline, SkyWatch Traffic.

Hiro Takahashi

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(Hiro sits on the hard plastic subway seat, taking drag after drag. He holds it in for at least 35 seconds and exhales seemingly more smoke than he inhaled. Was he storing extra smoke in his lungs? He puts out the cigarette on the seat next to him. This isn’t the first time he’s sat here. It’s evident by the numerous plastic welts in the seat from countless dead cigarette. The seat looks like the surface of a forgotten blue moon in another galaxy that only a few have seen. He glances over his shoulder at you. The disgust you feel is instantly transmuted into something else…an excitement. The smoke rolls from the alchemist’s mouth, slithering up the sides of his nose and behind the black frames of his glasses. In that moment, his brown eyes seem to illuminate through the smoke. He is the UFO in a foggy corn field, and you are the corn farmer being taken away from everything you know. There is terror, but there is also a curiosity drawing you in closer and closer, yet you remain in your chair, mere feet from the new object of your runaway passion. It can’t be contained, it should never be contained. But as you rise, so does he, because the train has stopped, and he is gone. And all that is left in the lingering aroma of his tobacco and the smoke of a fire burning deep within.)

 

Happy hunting, ladies!

-The Superb

Villagers: Kents McTugly

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“My very long life has been leading to this moment.” – McTugly

Profile: Old As Grapes

Height: 6’3″

Body Type: Terrier Cruise

Memorable Quotes: “For me, Plate Tectonics was the great Rubicon. Once crossed and all available counts taken, I had changed. My little kingdom of experiences reborn.”///”The world is but a quiet answer and when my attentions settle and the horizon appears as one sheet over me, I can hear the echo moving again. Just I heard it before, slowly, down the street.”///”Excite me, BABY!!!”

Profession: The Terryformer

Leg Strength: <<<bar none>>>

Story: Along with seven others, Kent is considered an Ancient Worthful, one of the few in The Village who have surpassed 120 years of age. He has four doctorates, two in his primary field of geological science, one in Latin American literature and another in chemistry. That he has managed to accomplish this at all causes some to view him with a sort of reverence. He was born to a poor family in the south and received little in the way of decent public education, as his teachers in school where an exceptionally dexterous breed of Pilgrim Falcons who were able to carry old educational 33 1/2’s from one room to another. Kents’s teacher, a world weary bird named Carrot, took and interest in Kent and saw his great intellectual potential. He would extra talon marked vinyls to his home after schools so he could learn more about the great industry of Corn Solids.

After graduating, he started his long trek through academic life in various prestigious institutions such as Princeton, UCLA and DJ Preggor’s Home School for Rock-anomics. The latter case was where Kents started to take interest in pseudoscience. He had observed ishifts in intellectual opinion on Plate Tectonics and continental drift. When I asked Kents to explain the theory in a way I could understand he said: “Imagine a Mega-Turtle with multiple interior shells that change the exterior and it hurts the turtle. That’s the earth.” Once he had grasped the theory, he carried with it doubts about the intellectual integrity of the scientific establishment. Thus, he began to explore the pseudosciences for answers that the establishment would not entertain.

“I saw where human meaning and material law met and got handsy with each other.” he said. “I could perceive, however dimly, that our minds and the physical space we inhabit or inextricably linked, like Lance Bass and space or blue cheese and Cobb salad.”

After the experience that people in The Village refer to as The Remembering, Kents realized what purpose he served in the scheme of things in The Village. He assumed the role of the great Terryformer. “My whole life had been leading to this.” he said, his glasses perched near the end of his nose, his chin tilted in.

The Villagers remember how chaotic everything used to be. Someplaces, there would be a house on top of a towering column of earth 87 feet high with a sheer cliff on every side. Other places, there would be gardens and farms in the shape of skate parks. “Quite dire. Quite dire.” he would mumble reflexively. Kents took his unimaginable knowledge of the earth’s geological composition and forces and applied it took driving a bulldozer around for 29 years.

Before started his great Terryform project, he assemble The Village leaders and drew and ideal town map. Everyone deciding where square foot of land should reside. But, the Village leaders stipulated to Kents that in transforming the landscape, he should not require any one to abandon or rebuild their places of work or residence. So, Kents would use his insane mind to gradually move each built structure from place to another with the earth itself, very very slowly.

Some people may imagine this sort of grunt work to be intolerable to a fabulous intellect such as Kents. But, he explains that applying all of his years of learning was something more akin to a martial art, harnessing all energies and applying them fluidly to a single point, a bulldozer.

As he worked his way from the exterior the center of The Village he began to discover relics and icons that he has only exhibited to a chosen few. Although shrouded in a degree of secrecy, the general opinion is that he has what people are calling “The Shroud of Turin but for Philip Seymour Hoffman”. The scientist working in collaboration with Villenhaus Laboratories have requested to analyze his findings Kents has flatly refused, swearing that he wants nothing to do with them.

Kents has since retired from his post after remapping The Village. He still goes out to correct Tectonic disturbances which seem to effect The Village more greatly. He lives in a humble cabin near the outskirts of The Damps. He will sits outside, reading Borges and smoking a corn pipe filled with alkaline stones.

The Superb Presents: Where is Ronald McDonald – Part 2

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Catch up on Where is Ronald McDonald? Part 1

Part 2: Santa Martinez

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Using my meager blogging budget, I booked the next flight to Santa Martinez, CA, a dusty suburb of San Francisco, located in the East Bay area. I’ve visited Santa Martinez before, back in 2007 while working for my previous employer, though I have this odd memory of the name of the town being Martinez instead of Santa Martinez. Regardless, memory is a tricky thing, and this would only be the beginning of it’s trickery.

When I arrived in the town, it was as I remembered it. Very quaint and quiet compared to the hustle and bustle of San Francisco, but very peaceful. One of the first things I did when arriving in the town was seeking out the Thai restaurant that my boss and I visited when we came almost a decade ago. Unfortunately, when I located the restaurant, I was disappointed to find that the original Thai proprietors had sold the establishment and it had since become an Indian restaurant. The disappointment had affected my appetite, so I decided to move ahead with my purpose in coming to Santa Martinez: find Ronald.

I had very little to go off of. The operator had only told me that Ronald would like to be left alone here, which in itself, was clearly intended to get me here. It was at this point that I froze. I had been so caught up in the excitement, and genuine terror from the phone call that I never stopped to think if I was being set-up. Did the McDonald’s people expect me to follow this clue? Was it an obvious red herring that completely undermined my aspiring hopes to be a decent journalist? Did I even talk to McDonald’s? Why did I think I could afford a $600 ticket to California right now? Had I even told my wife? All of these thoughts hit me like a sack of bricks that had been plummeting from the stratosphere ever since I stepped on the plane. What was I doing here?

Suddenly, I felt very dizzy. I checked my phone to see that I had 56 missed calls from my wife and 200+ text messages. All from my wife. This was a problem. She had no idea where I was, and I had no doubt at this point, the cops were looking for my body. I had to call her, but at that moment, my phone died. I had not charged it, and had no bag in which I would have carried a charger. I just jumped on a plane and flew across the country with absolutely nothing except what was on me at the time I made the call. I had to find a pay phone or borrow a cell phone immediately before my wife lost her mind. I decided on the Indian restaurant. As I walked inside, the smell of curry nearly knocked me to the floor. A flood of memories swept through me that I entirely forgotten about. Eating curry and talking about the complexity of relationships with a man that….I couldn’t recall. But, this all conflicted with what I knew was true: a Thai restaurant in too big of a room with, honest to God, 5 tables in a 1000 square foot room. This Indian restaurant was the same architecturally, no question, but with many more tables. I could tell I hadn’t eaten while in my fugue state, so I decided to sit down and have a bite after I called my wife.

I asked the waiter behind the counter if I could borrow his phone. He was a young Indian man who smelled like an Abercrombie and Fitch store as a living thing. His phone even reeked. As I put the phone to my ear, I noticed the older woman in the back staring at me, in what I can only imagine was a look of disbelief. I had too much going on to consider what social taboo I had just violated by asking to use a young Indian man’s cellphone, but I had no time for pleasantries. I dialed my wife’s number. The phone rang and rang, and went to voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Chris. I can’t take your message…”. I took the phone from my ear, and glanced at the screen to see what i had goofed up when dialing the number. Nothing. The number was exactly what it should be. I ended the call and tried again.

“Hello, you’ve reached Chris. I c-“. I looked at the phone again. Same number.

I approached the young man and asked if he had a landline I could use. He exhaled sharply and took me to the backroom.  A beat-up rotary hung from the wall. I picked up the headset and rotated my wife’s number into the phone. As I reached the last number, I realized something very terrifying.

I couldn’t remember my wife’s name.

 

To be continued…

 

Dylon’s Places of Interest: D Hill, Ackermanville, Pennslyvania

My name is Dylon. There are many beautiful places to see in this world. Some of these are more extraordinary than others. Some do not allow you to take pictures of them with earthly photography. Others are not photographed because I was streaming music on the way out and my phone died.

These are my…PLACES OF INTEREST


 

D Hill, Ackermanville, Pennslyvania

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D Hill. Spring, around 3 PM

If you were to head out to the hills of Ackermanville, Penn, approximately 30 miles past the newly constructed Sheetz, a farm can be found. The name of the farm is “Roy Rogers Farm”, but not named after the famous singing cowboy, but instead the fast food restaurant native to the Northeastern United States.

“They came up and bought up most of the land to use for throwin’ out old deep friyers and storing plastic chairs.” says Herb Jim, the patriarch of the Jim Family who has been living on the farm for over 7 years. “A bug had ate up our orchard, and our seaweed harvest wudnt doing good at the time as you couldn’t grow no seaweed on the land, so we sold the land to keep the bread on the table…except for this.” He said this to me as we sat at his ancient kitchen table. He finished his coffee for 45 minutes, had a bowel movement, did something with a wooden window frame for another 45 minutes, and then he showed me something truly breathtaking.

Herb led me through the graveyard of rancid deep fryers and rickety, busted Roy Rogers plastic chairs. “They…umm, keep tellin’ me they’re a comin back for um. The raccoons have claimed um now.” As we entered into a cluster of woods centered in the field, Herb took his hat off, and wiped his weathered, 60-year old brow. His handkerchief was flithy. “Just right up right just here.” I thought he was having a stroke and we kept on through the brush.

We came to a crick. Herb , breathing heavily, took a full 36 minutes to regain his composure, then he called me over. I wondered if I had been led along, if Herb was leading me to an early grave in chunks at the bottom of an abandoned grease trap. Instead, he pointed to a fully grown oak and told me “Poosh on it”. I looked Herb directly in the eye with visible anger.

“No, Herb. I’ve had enough. You are too old and gross to tell me what to do. You’ve wasted my time as it is.” I was annoyed and my shoes were full of raccoon feces.

“Just poosh.” Herb gestured towards the tree, coughing violently as he spewed mucus into his tattered flannel shirt. Giving into this simple Pennslyvania man’s wishes, I approached the tree and “pooshed” on it. Nothing happened. Herb chuckled and spat out a yellow mass the size of a box jellyfish into the bushes. “City boy, pooshin on trees.” Herb continued past me, giggling and gurgling at my foolishness. What a fool I was to fall for his idiot farmer games.

As we breached the woods, I, at last, saw what I had come here to see. Large stone monoliths scattered all about the hills, all of them in the shape of what appeared to be a large capital D. Some in perfect rows, without a degree of variance in placement. Others knocked around, broken. Some placed far away on distant hill.

“Here’s all this crap here.” Herb said, as he ripped a gigantic fart that erupted through the woods causing every bird to flee in fear.

Despite this man’s complete and total ignorance, I was in a state of shock. Some of the D’s looked like marble and were as smooth as butter. Others were prickly and red-colored, painful to the touch, almost as if they were electrified. It was then that I noticed a pattern: all of the D’s that were in a line together were smooth and pleasing to run my hands across, but the ones knocked on the ground with corners broken and chunks of stone torn out were almost vibrating.

“My god, man. These are living things!” I exclaimed, throwing my coat on one of the hurt. “Do you realize what this means?” Herb looked at me with a look so incredibly stupid…I find it difficult to explain without raising my blood pressure.

“THESE ARE LIVING STONES! This is a new lifeform, Herb!”. I was now caressing the smooth stone. The broken ones were far to painful to touch and left a weird banana-scented film on my hands.

Herb continued in his labored breathing, pausing just long enough to swallow some air to clear out his anus. “I dunno. They’ve been here a while. When I was youngun, they was over there on that there hill. Since then, they’ve moved over here. Not sure what they’re after. Dudint help me none.” Herb was sweating fat and grease and fat.

I glanced over at the hill where Herb had said they had started. I could see the faint outline of a rut in the ground that got barer as it neared the stones. Some ruts traveled off to the side to a pond. There were D’s in the pond, all stone as well. Would they drown? Did they breathe?

“Herb, I don’t know what to make of any of this. I was expecting Stonehenge, but I got something much more. Where do I begin with any of this?” I was at a genuine loss for words. Everything in my life up to this point seemed so small compared to this.

“I dunno.” Herb said, pulling at his tight, tight ugly shirt. His breathing was the worst thing I had ever heard, even Richard Ashcroft live. My attention was completely drawn to his pockmarked face and stupid dull brown eyes. What an imbecile, to have this momentous discovery in your own backyard, on the farm that you own, and do nothing with it. What a idiot, idiot, stupid man. I did not care much for him at all.

“Herb, why do you keep this field? You clearly care nothing about the fact that you have sentient rocks living on your property. Why didn’t you sell it to Roy Rogers Inc?” I had not noticed up until this point that my hand had curled into a fist, my fingernails digging deeper into the flesh of my palm. “WHY DID YOU KEEP THIS TO YOURSELF?”

Herb replied with a fart that, I swear to you, caused a duck to scream in the woods from fright. I couldn’t handle anymore of it, so I left. I left Herb in the woods and I drove my car really fast out of his stupid gravel driveway.

I still dream of those rocks. I went out one night one my own to try to find them, but I couldn’t located them. They allowed themselves to only be found by the one man who could never appreciate them on the level that I could, who could never tap their potential and what it means for us and our future.

Beauty is wasted on the stupid. Stupid…stupid Herb.

-Dylon

 

 

Garth Brooks on Partnership with Frito-Lay: “It’s What I’ve Worked Towards My Whole Life”

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Walk into any grocery store’s chip aisle and you may see a familiar, unmistakable silhouette. That’s right, a likely approximation of Garth Brook’s body shape on that bag of Fritos corn chips you’re buying. What you’re seeing is the culmination of nearly 20 years of agonizing hard work and dedication to Garth’s craft.

“I’ve been after that coveted Frito bag since I stated playing honky tonks in Tulsa. All of my heroes had made it there. Who doesn’t remember Hank Williams on Barbecue or Willie Nelson on Big Scoops. Those were my idols, still are, and if I couldn’t get on that Frito bag, what’s been the point of any of this.”

Garth, or “g” as he is known these days, has been lobbying hard for the esteemed front of the bag for over 2 decades. Fans of his will remember times at his shows when he would stop the show to call Frito-Lay headquarters on a phone and have everyone in the audience scream “we want g for Fritos” over and over again.

“These calls happened nearly 3 times a week.” says Henry Polcheck, head of marketing for Frito-Lay. “Long voicemails of indecipherable mob screaming. For a while, we thought were being haunted, but no, it was just Garth, coercing his fans into chanting a phrase over and over again into a Panasonic handheld phone on a stage. They would do this for hours and hours. Sometimes, he would refuse to play them music until he felt the message was appropriately delivered. But they loved him for it.” And that was true. His fans nevertheless wavered in their support for Garth and his passion.

“If g wants it, it must be so.” says Jimmy Lovell, leader of the Garth Brooks fan club, g Force. “What he’s given us as a people is so tremendous and beautiful, if anyone deserves to be vaguely represented on a chip bag, it’s him. Garth Brooks taught me to live. I had my first religious experience watching the video for The Thunder Rolls. That’s when I realized that this world is not what anyone thinks it is and that there are old and angry gods waiting to lay waste to it, and enslave us for their amusement. Once Garth opened it up to me, I was so appreciative to be set free from the imaginary Puritanical shackles, giving in to pure anarchy and ill-fitting cowboy boots, that the only way to properly convey our appreciation is to spread the Garth message far and wide, and the best way of doing that is by putting a body very similar to his on corn chip bags that will be seen in every Sunoco from here to Orlando for a limited time only.”

Garth is often baffled by his extreme fan devotion. “Haha, yeah those guys, I dunno know what they think I’m all about. They’ve always got these shrines up at my concerts and try to sacrifice things there. They keep telling me I’m a herald. I don’t know about that, man. I just want to see what I can safely assume is my body lit from the back on a bag of chips in my cupboard. I want to know what my heroes felt like when they would walk up to someone who’s casually eating a Rueben at a Rueben party holding a bag with themselves on it. I just can’t fathom it.”

But it may shock some to here that Garth has come close to being on a bag before. “Right after my cover of Shameless, Frito-Lay offered me the Doritos bag, which I would have taken, but they explained to me that if I took the Doritos, I could never qualify for the Fritos bag. That was the hardest decision I ever had to make. I passed up the Doritos, and they gave it to Tracy Lawrence, but I think he’s singing in a church somewhere in Atlanta now or something, so we see where that got him.”

Garth had another brush with Fritos when they offered him the role off permenant spokesman for Fritos Racerz, racecar-shaped Fritos that eventually became Flavor Twists. “I was extremely excited at first, but as I thought about it more, I decided to hold out for the regular bag, and good thing I did!”.

“We offered to give him Racerz after his “g force” murdered a bunch of stray dogs on our building.” explains Polcheck. “The chips originally intended to feature Jeff Gordon, but at a certain point, the safety of our employees became a serious concern. Jeff Gordon’s people were only killing themselves in their own homes. So, we offered it to Garth, who did consider it, but decided to pass since  a race car isn’t a guitar and he hasn’t figured out a way to ride his guitar yet.”

Despite all of these setbacks, Brooks has finally achieved his dream, and so has his fan club.

“IT IS FINALLY DONE! WE HAVE ACCOMPLISHED IT! THE HERALD HAS STRUCK FORTH! FEAR FOR THE COMING YEAR WHEN ALL WILL FALL! COME GORG! COME JEEIRB! PLAY STANDING OUTSIDE THE FIRE! WOOOOO!”. screamed Lovell as he shook three dogs in one hand at Garth Brooks during a concert right after the release of Brooks-branded Fritos. His g Force group has expanded by leaps since Garth made the bag, as this figures prominently into their prophetic message they have been sharing for the 12 years they have been functional. Now, half of his concerts are full of shirtless, dog-mad individuals who have formed a cult around this simple Oklahoma boy.

“Yeah, the shows are getting weird since the bag came out.”, Garth admitted at his show, kicking away a bag of Fritos stuffed with bloody meat of some sort. “I don’t know what to do about it, but I tell you what, this ain’t going stop me from enjoying this moment. I finally did it, guys!”.

THE BATTLE FOR THE WORLD STONE BEGINS

-The Superb

Boyplay

With what little light there is, I use it to make out a nervous figure. As he walks over to the stool nearest me his feet jut out wildly and they nearly clip a chair twice. He orders something and then he turns to me. His demeanor seems to demand familiarity, although I have no recollection of the man. It appears he’s setting up shop where he is. I reach for my coat. Only, as I do, I hear him speak quietly, almost to himself.

“Allow me to even try to introduce myself.”

“Hmm?”

A hand is extended, meant for me.

“Let’s see here… I’m Bandana Jim. You guess why yet?”

He twists slightly, his backside turned over so I can see the red cloth emerging from his jeans pocket.

“Yeah… since I was only 3 years.” he said.

“Nice… nickname.” I said.

“Listen, I’ve only got a few more minutes so won’t you hear my story first before you coon out of here?” he said, sensing my restlessness.

“Sure…” I said perturbed, checking my phone and setting it back on the counter top.

“Well, okay then. It was 1951 the year of LORD and I entered the world, a fully formed human baby.” he said, poking my chest. “No problems… and then I was born into the most Catholic family you can possibly imagine. Flash forward to more recently and my faith and career changed when I became retired forcibly due to an on-the-job injury that I caused on myself due to trying to stack up too many steel girders on top of each other with a crane.”

He waits for my gaze, grinning.

“And I woulda done it to, had I not gotten out admiring my work by leaning on it. So, y’know popped my spine slightly and I got a work-out-of-free card. Hah… My kids still give me a look like ‘What are you doin’ here?’. Anyway, it got bored and lonesome and then I got to getting involved in my community a little more. What can’t I ask for my country that my country has not already done for me, right? So, I hey, I got to my local LORD Shack and I’m wondering what guidance can I get from my LORD Man. Well, I go into his office and he says, ‘Have I ever thought about kids?’ I says, ‘Well, I guess.’ And he says: ‘You are gonna be Boy Scrouts’. And I’m like…”

He seems to be lost for a moment. I tighten the grip on my coat.

“Yeah! So, I become Boy Scrout Master. And I study up for Scrout leadership and LORD principles. So, I come up for Camp Cherokee over the summer. And first day and get there and I see these little guys and I get a tear in me, cause I’m thinkin’… they don’t stand a chance. Y’know? There barely speaking to me and they are all playing activities on there phones.”

(As I type this out, I don’t know whether to spell out “their” or “there” due to the way he said it.)

“And y’know, I just got to thinking. And one day I announced Boyplay: The First Boy Scrouts Coldplay All-Boys Cover Band.”

He takes a sip of his drink and I feel an aching sense of panic wash over me.

“And this idea is simple and LORD-based. What if we took boys, lost, tormented with day-screams and boy toils and inadequacies and gave them something to live up for… being Coldplay AKA Boyplay. And I got on my knees and thanked LORD. I did.  So, I applied this new principle as mandatory. All Boy Scrout members must pick a member and become him physically, spiritually and bodily. I remember one day, I walk into the cafeteria and here they are… mostly Chris Martin childs, eatin’ breakfast; hundreds of Boy Scrouts donning the garb of the world’s greatest popular music band. Of course, only one set of boys is the official Boy-Play Cover band. So, you can picture with me if you will…” he said. He reaches for and holds my hand between his own. “There they are… A set of LORD ordained Boy Scrouts playing only “Clocks” seventeen times for an audience of boys who look like Coldplay also.”

I try to withdraw my hand without making much of it.

“They get so excited. They are bouncing around in a mosh pit, just going nuts on each other. But, this is exactly what keeps our community drugs free and no gang-violence. They are drawing INTO the LORD. My boys love Moses because of Moses. They eat apple because the boys say as they take a big ol’ bite: ‘This is my daughter.’ Thousands of young boys… Listen, this programs is 1000% times more effective than football and school combined. It keep ‘em away from streets where the LORD cannot see them. This whole community is so full of LORD now, I can’t stand it. Good LORD, boys. Am I right? LORD on all sides!”

Now he stares, almost exclusively, at the ceiling.

“I’ve got to get to North Haverbrook and take my business over there for a while, just to get some balance. I let the winds do away with the ANTI-LORD in me. You can have too LORD and then you slam a kid into its own legs in the name of LORD. He doesn’t want that. Hah! Sometimes, I steam up so hard off the head, it’s like I’m a Steampunk Pervert Iron Man. Then I get out of North Haverbrook because it smells like soup and I get back to LORDING it up and down the interstate with my hat on. Soup is the Devil’s sex. Stew is the LORD fill. Wait… now… Have I told you about my recent investments?”

His weight shifts in his seat, almost invisibly, but enough for it cause an audible whine. His mustache trembles spasmodically with… delight?

“I’ve got 12% in and 40% down for the Boy Scrouts. LORD will bless me for this. One is for LORDCARE: The Only LORD Based Obamacare. They ain’t putting any vaccinations in my Boyplay and it costs thousands. Also, I’ve put a lot of the money in CARS. I can’t tell you how much my deductible is, because I have misplaced the envelope in my car. Man… listen, Satan better not change Monday again because I already labeled all of that older sisters Tupperware according to the days of the week and she can’t eat them out of order because then she’ll have lasagna twice and that would be embarrassing to me. And then I turn around to them inside of A VAN and I say to the entire Boyplay: ‘Who wants Aint’s?’ They love some of that. I just sit in the van while they get some of the smoked delights inside. It’s not my place to eat there. LORD know why.

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-The Superb

Note: Co-Written with Anthony; adapted from a text conversation we had.

Villagers: Sophie Chiswell Math

Sophie Chiswell Math

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“Tell me one good reason why I can’t put the concept of mathmatics as a dependent, Oliver.”

Profile: Peach Skinned Alabama Peach

Height: 5′ 0″

Body Type: Shelly Duvall in The Shining

Memorable Quotes: “Math is my husband”///”I’m married to math”///”Let me check in with math before I agree to that bridge game, Mandy.”

Profession: Math teacher

Leg strength: <<<Mecha (Pre-Alpha)>>>

Story: Sophie was always a very smart girl growing up, getting the best grades in her school and getting shoved into every locker, toilet and under a bus that Southern Elementary had to offer. It was throughout these trials that she began to develop the most important relationship of her life.

During one particular locker imprisonment in 1st grade, she began to do multiplication tables in her head. As the digits increased, she felt something she had never felt before. A content warmth that many normal children in the hallways would have felt when around their best friends, running with wild abandon through the playgrounds and climbing up and down the incredible dangerous play pirate ship made of splintered wood. As the years and grades went by, the complexity of the problems increased. She moved along to long divisions, fractions, algebraic formulas, proving geometric proofs, and finding zeros in functions. These numbers had always been her friends, but she began to feel something more, and that warmth became a flame of passion.

She graduated from the Village University Summa Cum Laude in Super Math, a new form of math developed by the esteemed Jill Brothers. She was the first in the nation to excel at this form of mathmatics and as a result, was in high demand among universities across the country. In the meantime, her romance with math had reached a fever pitch. She would lock herself in her own closet for entire weekends, running through Super Math formulas over and over again, complicating a problem, as they would say in Super Math, “pert near four tiers deep” until she couldn’t think to breathe anymore. She was madly in love in math, but it had always been a one-way romance, unrequited love defined. Until one day when math answered her.

She was nearly seven tiers deep when she felt a presence around her. Initially, she snapped from her closet trance in shock, believing it to be someone in the closet with her. And she was right. Directly in front of her in the closet was what she perceived in the physical realm as The Sixth Doctor from Doctor Who. He sat there in front of her with his blonde afro and an air of arrogance that could be tasted.

“Yes, it is I, the concept of math, here to be your boyfriend. Let’s make out for weeks.”, Math said. Sophie laughed until she cried, and they made out for 5 weeks straight, only taking the occasional bathroom and spaghetti breaks in-between. Unfortunately, due to her romantic indulgences, she lost her position as Super Math professor at Havard University 2, which was located in Alabama but still a really good Havard. But Sophie didn’t care. She had math all to herself and she didn’t care about anything else.

Unfortunately, though, without any sort of income, she eventually ran out of toilet paper for the bathroom breaks, and spaghetti for the spaghetti. This displeased math, who was beginning to tire of their unending make-out sessions.

“I’ve grown tired of your spit and lack of spaghetti and the lack of spaghetti flavor in your spit. I’ve got to get a move on.” said math, putting on his red blazer with yellow ribbed cuffs. But Sophie was not going to let go of love that easily.

“NO! Don’t leave, I’ll get a job! I’ll feed you the best spaghetti! Just….please….I have no one else”, Sophie said with tears in her eyes. Math looked her up and down, and sighed really loud. Then he left. Sophie was alone.

Sophie spiraled into a deep depression, and without her crutch of math to lean on, it took her some time to crawl out of it. Once she did, she got a job as a normal math teacher at Southern Elementary, the very same school where she fell in love with math. But it was here that she made a shocking discovery.

One day, while having her customary tuna on a hot dog bun and Mr. Pibb in the parking lot, she noticed something in the bottom window of the school, in the basement which served as storage for chairs and pregnancy emergency dolls. It appeared to be a piece of paper. She made her way into the basement, and found the room facing the playground where was sitting when she saw the paper. On the paper, there was a series of  numbers written in blue crayon, a very similar color to the one she would use as a child. She stared at this for an indeterminable period of time, though it was long enough for her to lose her apartment and her job at Southern. But this made up for it. Now, she had what she needed.


It is now the seventh year since The Fetching. The blight has spread to all of the outposts. There is no Golden left to serve as a shield to the blight and the Pushers, with their ribbed proboscis pulsing at a rapid rate, skitter through the city. The ruins of what was Southern Elementary stand stark against the blood red sky. The Pushers run this several times a day, sometimes entering the outer portions of the school, but they sense nothing pulling them towards the center, and then down into the basement where an endless string of green numbers pour across a yellowed CRT monitor with something scrawled across the side of the casing. No one speaks the English language anymore, but if they could, they would read the name “Sophie”.

-The Superb

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The MonArchs: Matthew McConaughey’s hidden talent

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You know him from the Lincoln commercials, but even Matthew McConaughey’s most avid fans are mostly unaware of his interest in architecture. While most of Matt’s time these days is taken up by his film career and associated activities, he actually has a real knack for design which is made apparent by the active role he took in the composition of his $12,000,000 mansion located just outside Austin TX. This week, we go for a tour…

Front/Aerial view:

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Talk about a great first impression. Just imagine pulling up to this beauty every day after work. The enclosed exterior walkways really speak to Matt’s appreciation for Romanesque architecture.

View from rear yard:

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Here’s another shot from around back. I’m actually a huge fan of the turrets, and the landscaping accentuates them quite nicely. Nicely done Matt!

Let’s take a peak inside, shall we?

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Wow. Now that’s a living room. It must have taken the trim carpenters ages to craft all of the door casings and wall trim to Matt’s exact specifications. It really makes for a breathtaking effect. And just look at that chandelier!

Kitchen:

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Now that’s an awesome kitchen. The cherry cabinets and granite tops have a very traditional and inviting look to them. It’s also well equipped with an over-sized range and dual wall ovens. Very impressive!

While we can’t all enjoy luxury at this level, Matt’s estate is a real inspiration for design enthusiasts at all levels and I hope that he continues to explore this hidden talent. You can really learn a lot about a person by taking a look inside their home! I hope you enjoyed the tour as much as I did.

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The Superb Presents: Where is Ronald McDonald?

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When was the last time you saw Ronald McDonald? What was the last commercial or print you recall with his maudlin painted expressions? It may surprise you when you realize Ronald has been out of the public eye for a little while.

There are many explanations that have been offered as to why the Clown Prince of Cheeseburgers has been quiet as of late. Some of these have been offered by McDonald’s itself.

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Other potential reasons that have been suggested is McDonald’s effort to distance itself from it’s appearance of being an evil corporation who uses a child-friendly character to doomed children to a life of obesity and horrible eating habits.

Not satisfied with mere theories, we went on a hunt to find Ronald and get it straight from the clown mouth.

 

Part 1: Down to Clown

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When we contacted McDonald’s representatives on multiple occasions, we received the same answer every time, which was a repeat of the above CNN article, almost verbatim. This was done on 36 separate occasions. After this, we changed our tactic when calling. Instead of asking about the reason for Ronald’s disappearance, we began asking for Ronald himself. This seemed to the throw the support employees for a loop as it veered so wildly off of their normal script, aside from perhaps some pages in the back that dealt with scenarios in which a child would call in. After several unprepared but still canned responses from the support staff at the call center for the Golden Arches, we received an interesting response. We have posted the following discussion word-for-word as it happened on the phone.

McDonald’s Corporate Call Center: “McDonald’s Call Center, this is Rob, how can I help you?

The Superb: “Yes, this is A with The Superb. We would like to know where Ronald McDonald lives.

McDonald’s: (pause) Why would you want to know that?

The Superb: We would like to ask him some questions regarding his absence in recent advertising.

(At this point with every other operator, we would begin to receive the same response that basically asserted that Ronald was not a real person, but a corporate entity used in advertisement, effectively ending our conversation. It was here that this conversation diverted.)

McDonald’s: (pause, mixed with some background noises) Why do you keep calling here?

The Superb: Because we feel the people deserve to know the truth. The reasons given by your corporation are not satisfying.

McDonald’s: To who?

The Superb: What do you mean?

McDonald’s: Who are you asserting our answers are not satisfying for?

The Superb: Well, we represent the people, so we feel that we are speaking fo-

McDonald’s: Whoa, whoa, let me stop you right there, Mr. W. We have see-

The Superb: How do you know my name?

McDonald’s: I don’t have to answer that question, but it should be obvious since you have been hounding us relentlessly about Ronald. You don’t think we look into cases like this? We’re a worldwide corporation. We have resources. Now, let me tell you something, pal. You DO NOT represent the interests of the people, okay? We’ve seen your little blog you run. You have something like 80 followers or something.

The Superb: 81

McDonald’s: What?

The Superb: We have 81 followers, as of 10/29, to be accurate, sir.

McDonald’s: Do you know how many people ate at our restaurant across the world yesterday?

The Superb: Well, according to an article published by thefiscaltimes.com, you serve approximately 68 million people daily.

McDonald’s: Yeah. We’ve got more followers than most churches do, okay? So you need to let go of this whole idea that you’re going to create a story out of this and get any traction whatsoever, you understand me?

The Superb: Well, sir, you do realize that by answering in the the way you just did, you yourself have made a story out of this?

McDonald’s: (sound of fabric brushing against phone receiver) Listen to me, pal. I am not your enemy. I am saying this out of kindness for my fellow man….DROP THIS NOW. I know this may seem sensational or like something newsworthy, but don’t you think for a second that you are the first person to come snooping around here about this. Much larger, much more powerful people have contacted us about this and we gave them the same response we’re giving you. There is nothing more to this that what we have stated.

The Superb: Then why are you looking up my information?

McDonald’s: What?

The Superb: I said why are you looking up my information if you have nothing to hide?

McDonald’s: (Pause, followed by strange acoustical changes in the phone call. Much more reverb is introduced, suggesting a change in environment on the other end, as if the McDonald’s employee just walked into a large cave system. Also, it has been noted upon repeat replays that the sound of the man’s voice seems to have changed enough to suggest someone else was on the phone for the final part of the conversation) Yes.

The Superb: Oh…Yes, who is this?

McDonald’s: (pause, along with sounds in the distant background that resemble objects being thrown down a stairwell) Yeees.

The Superb: What is this? Who am I talking to?

McDonald’s: (Pause, followed by several clicks) I know which one you are from.

The Superb: I don’t know what that means. Could you explain that?

McDonald’s: (Pause, followed by several clicks and the immediate disappearance of the reverb) ...SIR! Are you hearing me? (Rob was back, and the creepy ambiance was gone).

The Superb: Hello? 

McDonald’s: Yes! Sir, I am trying to tell you that if you could please leave Ronald alone, he would appreciate that. He’s trying to get some rest out in Santa Martinez, California, and it would be impolite to disturb him.

The Superb: (Pause) Yes, absolutely.

McDonald’s: Have a good day, sir.

(End of call)

As you can see, there are many things that are curious about this call. Why did the support staff choose to handle this particular call of mine in an unorthodox way? Why was it Rob? Who in the world was that talking to me in the middle of the conversation? What did he mean by saying he knew “which one” I was from? And why did Rob suddenly willingly, and suspiciously vomit valuable information into the whereabouts of Ronald?

Santa Martinez held the answer.

 

To be continued…