Tag: bookstore

When Harry Met My Fist

I’m far from Miss Manners here but it’s gotta be in poor form to unload your woe-is-me tale on someone that’s actually losing something, including possibly his finances, house, marriage, kid’s college fund, who knows what else.  It’s like telling your neighbor that you’re sorry that huge oak tree fell on his house; it was a nice tree for birds to hang out on and sing.

And with that uninspired observation, I turn the rest of the week’s snarking back to the master, TFHackett! Thanks for the opportunity to try and dredge some chuckles out of this bleak week!

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It was like Facebook but in the real world?  Has Tom B ever been to Facebook? Unless Crazy’s idea of chatting up the staff or other customers included begging them to join his mafia or showing random strangers pictures of his neice, I doubt it was much like Facebook.

I wonder if the real Village Booksmith sells DVDs or CDs, or just old back issues of Readers’s Digest.  Either way, getting accosted by my weird mailman at a bookstore would be enough to drive me away, or go nuclear on his butt.

Crazy Harry: “So what book did ya get?”

Me: “The joys of animal sex! I’ve always heard about it and was kind of curious. Lots of horse stuff in it.  I’m more of a marsupial man myself but kangaroos are hard to come by in Ohio…”

Tuesdays with Boring

Epicus Doomus In case you’re the one person on earth who doesn’t already know where this arc is going, let me clue you in: everything old was great and everything new sucks.

Epicus called it; this week’s arc is the exact same storyline as last week’s mindless banter about Blackberries except that now we’re lamenting the fact that people are buying online instead of going to the local bookstore, which is open from 9:30 -5 except on Wednesdays and Sundays when they’re closed. Oh, and come early, parking is a nightmare.

Meanwhile, at Jabba's Palace…

Ah, book stores! Especially mom and pop bookstores, have been in trouble financially since  about, oh, 2003.  I guess “a while now” means 8 or so years.  I appreciate the opportunity to guest blog on here and give SnarkMaster T. the chance to chill for a little but it would appear I picked the week we’re going to be trapped in a small, stifling bookstore with the Unibomber and a misshapen blob of talking dough.