Fringe Backdrop

Hooray! Let's Say Goodbye To Everything Advertisers Want Us To Say Goodbye To!

Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye! 

Meanwhile, Back At the Gaslight...

"Thanks for coming today. Here's your check."

"What? Miss, I just paid my check a moment ago."

“I do not know what you are talking about. You are just trying to confuse me.”

"No, I gave you my Visa card. You still have it."

"Are you sure? You probably have a bad memory, being old and all."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Look, I'm very busy today and don't have the time to argue. So just give me a twenty and we'll forget about your embarrassing behavior."

"Will you take two 10's?"

Comic Strip Where The Last Panel Is Always A Remote Oil Rig

An Open Letter From A Cat To Its Owner Who Bought a CatNix® Workspace Partition, As Seen In The Latest Issue of SkyMall

Okay, I get it. You want to be left alone to work on your spreadsheets or expense reports or whatever. That's cool. I realize that whenever you're working on your laptop or computer, that I can't expect for you to drop everything just to pet my head or scratch the part on my back towards the tail that makes me arch my butt. But I as a cat have needs, too.

I just bother you once in a while when I feel like you haven't paid enough attention to me. That can't be more frequently than every hour or so– no big deal. Just my way of checking in with you and saying hello. And you have shooed me away or picked me up and set me on the floor enough times where I get the hint and leave you alone for a while. We're all adults here.

So when you went and bought the CatNix® Workspace Partition after seeing it in the SkyMall catalog, I knew something in our relationship was terribly wrong. This was essentially an act of war.


I mean, look at this thing. There's a solid piece of PLEXIGLASS between you and me now. I feel like I'm at a goddamned hockey game. Ridiculous.

And don't think I'm not agile enough to simply bound over these partitions onto your keyboard. You've seen me reach the top of the pantry door from the kitchen counter. I'll fucking do it if I have to. It's more the sheer gesture of literally setting up walls between you and me. That's the part that really hurts. It's just a big "fuck you" to yours truly.

Remember, you have responsibilities as my owner, too. Just because you open a can of food for me and change my litter box doesn't mean your job is done: I crave serious emotional support, too, dummy. Hell, I'm already there for you, always. Who was there for you when that Sicilian girl stood you up? Who listened to you bitch about your crappy mid-level executive job this last year? The same job you're devoting more time to than stroking me? You forgetful putz.

And did you have to shell out $37.99 (plus shipping) of your hard earned money just to shut me out like that? That's just downright wasteful. With that money you could score some serious high-end cat toys and a laser pointer. But I guess that didn't cross your mind, did it?

Also, who the fuck is this guy?

Learn to appreciate what's around you before what's around you scratches your fucking eyes out while you sleep.

Fuck you,
Wally the Cat

EADJ ProofrEADJer, February Edition

(This one submitted by Tom Weingard:)

UAG

A Smelly Hole

Earlier this week, Joel was trying to find the source of a terrible stench he had detected in his apartment. He had sent his chimp servant Chad Yarborough out for groceries, so he had to search alone.

Under the sink, behind the bookshelf, nothing. Joel even emptied all the leftovers from the fridge into a large trash bag and hurled it into the dumpster across the parking lot, but the heavy smell was still in the apartment.

Only towards the end of the night, when he was brushing his tongue in the bathroom mirror, did he notice a large chunk of meat that had wedged between his back molars. He flossed it out and the 3 lb. piece of dick fell into the sink. And the bathroom started filling with flies.

So it was Joel's breath all along! He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand and turned to camera as a sad trombone played.

Fresh Direct Thursday: Enchiladas With Beef Short Rib In Salsa Mestiza, or How To Make Your Tastebuds Seriously Consider Suicide

Today we decided to really take one for the team and try the Enchiladas With Beef Short Rib In Salsa Mestiza from Rosa Mexicano Kitchen. Now, this turned out to be one of the worst dishes yet. You fuckers owe me big.


The kitchen was not only busy today, but there was an actual LINE to the vending machine. I guess this either speaks to the readership of EADJ or how busy some people are in the middle of the day at Toucan Cleric's Fun.



Most of the times that I've eaten Beef Enchiladas I've either been drunk at 2am or been held hostage by banditos and that's all they had to feed me. So microwavable enchiladas are a "special" "treat."



Initially, I had trouble even getting the dish out of the machine. I guess even it knew I wouldn't like it.



There was no nutritional information on either the beef enchilada packaging or on the little sign on the vending machine. So instead, here's a photo of Sybil Danning:




Three minutes later, Ding!



I'm not really super-sensitive when it comes to the texture of food. But there was something about the morphing, gooey nature of the inside of the enchiladas that reminded me of those melting Nazi faces in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I was not looking forward to biting into that.


Now, how do I put this- My mouth was raided by spices and reluctant meat. Beef arrived to the party but decided to sulk in the corner on the sofa. Meanwhile, the spices tried to talk to everyone without sticking around to say anything important or sensible.
Meanwhile cheese showed up and changed the music to Helen Reddy and Perry Como. And then salsa rummaged through everyone's coats on the bed to look for money.





Overall rating: F