Awesome

I Need Friends

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EDIT: THIS POSITION HAS BEEN CUT DUE TO LACK OF BUDGET FUNDING, THE ECONOMY, AND RENEWED AWESOMENESS OF CURRENT FRIENDS. PLEASE NOTE THAT THE FOLLOWING POSITIONS ARE STILL OPEN: SOCIAL FRIENDSHIP, LONG-DISTANCE & SOCIAL FRIENDSHIP, LOCAL. 
THIS ANNOUNCEMENT EFFECTIVE APRIL 2, 2013.

To be honest, I’m getting tired of a lot of my friends. Many of them have been my friends since we were quite young, and after all these years together, I think it’s time for me to make some changes.

I don’t want to come across as crass or uncaring, but I really am just tired of the same people all the time.

Thus, I have introduced an application for new best friends. The application is short and concise, and I hope to gain many new awesome friends this way. I will be reviewing submissions and sending out pink slips to current friends as positions are filled.

You can download and print the document below to fill out.

Thanks! You guys are the best!
~ Chris

Beauty

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I normally write something, but today I’m just going to give you a picture and six words:

I am glad to be home.  

The Incomplete Plenary of Obfuscation

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The atmosphere was one of light-hardheartedness and general mirth. Small talk and generic persiflage tickled the ears of passersby; the ubiquitous red shirts and old-style, ripped blue jeans that comprised the uniform of the shopkeepers might have been distracting, had the scene itself not provided a multiplicity of foreign and wild distractions. The floors were scattered haphazardly with tiles of multifarious shape and style. The mad colors blended with the dull grout and otherwise quotidian construction of the old building. Indeed, had those employed been dressed in naught but their essentials, the newcomer to this exhibit would have thought it none the stranger nor less fantastic. The walls held hand-painted murals and glass mosaics of nefarious looking poultry and graphic demembrations of various fowl. Many have pondered the state of consciousness of the artist from whose mind these images came: demented, insane, inebriated?

The establishment manages, somehow, to escape giving the impressions of a spurious or dubious nature. The real danger lies in the posterior of the curious shop. The clandestine–nay, even surreptitious–operations of those who work behind the visible operation. Indubitably, the operations were properly sanctioned through the various and customary routes of authoritarian government obtainment of permissions, yet when one was allowed into the cookery, the crushing reality of the atrocities committed therein were brought to light. Composed of the organization was this verse of undoubted truth and verisimilitude:

‘Twas a scene so foul, In the indeterminable bowel,
Of that terrible, queer, and violent store.
The place did give, of its own derive,
A feeling and aura, reminisce of Pandora,
Hidden behind that deathly door. 

For whom did it open? For what was within?
What could in the dreadful unknown be?
There behind that door of metal,
Wrought from pan, pot, and kettle,
There work the ones who peddle,
The lovely fried goodness, we call, KFC.

Salutations distinguées,
XanthusKidd