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“You pushed the button, right?”
“Yup.”
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“Wanna maybe try pushing it again?”
“Sure.”
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“Well, shit.”
“Yup.”
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Recent Comments
- In The Mailbox: 02.28.23 (Afternoon Edition) : The Other McCain on Hey, longtime pw readers…
- In The Mailbox: 12.23.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll truly IS a sad, embittered psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- Danger on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
- In The Mailbox: 07.18.22 : The Other McCain on Patrick J. Carroll might be a psychopath
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“Christ, what’s that smell?”
“Umm… yeah, that was me.”
“I bet the elevator would be here by now…if we were WHITE.”
“Speak for yourself, Darkie.”
“I’ll cut you, you supremacist son of a bitch!”
Hmm, didn’t take long for THIS socioeconomic adventure to end badly. Perhaps we should invest more in elevator maintenance.
Perhaps we should invest more in elevator maintenance.
Americans won’t do elevator maintenance anymore, but don’t worry, I know someJaun that will.
You might want to take the stairs when it finally does arrive and a man and woman exit.
Or, two young buff men, or one buff guy and Elton John, or two sensibly shoe’d women, or a couple of wild, pretty women, or a man and a magazine, or whatever. You know?
RACIST!!!!!!
Fritz Hollings?
Or my brother Fritz? He just managed to get himself FIRED as a TEACHER in CALIFORNIA last week! I mean, you gotta get extra-super bonus points for pulling that off.
Apparently a student used pencil, and Fritz insisted on ink. Fisticuffs ensued.
So let that be a warning. It IS possible to be fired in California. If you’re a manly sort.
Screw the stairs. As long as the floor, ceiling, and/or walls haven’t been visibly spoogified, I’m riding the machinery.
Exercise is for monkeys.
By the way, I got into the elevator the other day after a manly sort disembarked. I rode 27 floors encased in a tangible fart shroud.
It was disgusting. And yet, somehow, manly. Nothing in the world smells like that. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole elevator. Smelled like – victory.
Don’t worry, Jeff.
Lots of us always suspected your elevator didn’t go all the way to the top…
See, now that’s just mean.
Sometimes, you just know the elevator will never come, because the building super has taken it to down to Basement Level Sub -3 to have his pastrami and cake to Musaak or to do something with the body of that irritating woman in 9D.
Sorry KM..couldn’t hold it.
. . .
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. . .
. . .
“So. Do you come here often?”
Does this thing go sideways? To the right? Far right?
TW: center
“it’s the stupid construction in the lobby….. when are the tv’s coming back!? the plasma screens that ran fox news channel all the time!? it’s been months! hurry up and finish covering up all the marble. who’s brilliant idea was that anyway!? huh? place just looked a little too classy? gah!”
tw: probably. i could probably survive six floors of stairs, but why risk it?
It’s not Fox News, it’s Faux News you imperialist!!
ugh, i’m gonna get a ranty response either way.
Whenever I’m waiting for an elevator and the light in the button is on, and some moron comes up and pushes it anyway because, yannow, it ain’t gonna come unless I push it, I always say, “So, do you work at The Magic Castle?”
You mean I get to type: “Hal, open the pod bay door.”
Or is it Otis?
Otis, my man!!
Elevators and the Art of Zen Maintenance
New at Amazon.com
Just remember to check when the doors finally do open. I hear they still haven’t cleaned up Rosalind Shays from the bottom of the shaft.
Yup.
What’s worse is he got to it first.
By the way, I got into the elevator the other day after a manly sort disembarked. I rode 27 floors encased in a tangible fart shroud.
It was disgusting. And yet, somehow, manly. Nothing in the world smells like that. The smell, you know that gasoline smell, the whole elevator. Smelled like – victory.
Be sure to check out KM’s latest short story Dutch Oven Mountain
I’d take the space-stairs, but I don’t see how I’m supposed to shimmy up that carbon-nanotube-composite ribbon in a skirt.
If you’re talking about that vinyl midi, then there’s no way Sarah.
Maybe there should be a trap door located at the floor below the elevator call button that would activate upon someone pushing it when already lit.
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Did you try pushing the button on the other side? That usually works.
TW: worked. For me, anyway.
Why do I have to push the button?
The women here can appreciate the instances where, after waiting a year for the elevator, you don’t use it when a strange man who had been staring at you in a creepy way would be the only other person to get on. Then you have to mumble something like you’re OCD and can’t get on until the third car.
Why do they always look relieved you don’t get on after saying that? And why do the Brits call them lifts when they go down as well as up?
TODD: Why do I have to push the button?
Because it’s not self-motivating?
OMFG TEH COMEDY!!11!!!
[Sorry. It’s the crack talking.]
– A Nobel should be offered as incentive to any citizen that tracks down and offs the bats-turd that came up with Muszak…..
…..
…..
…..
…..
… and flourescent lights…..
Mmmm…capitalized contumely.
It’s an invisible car, Auntie. Trust me.
“Officials said that Benon Sevan’s generous aunt was unavailable for comment….”
…..Invisable car?…. What invisable caaaararrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…… *splat*
Maybe it’s not on the fritz, maybe it’s gone insane.
TW: that’s my final word on the matter.