Pictures of Luigiville Police Station

Instead of writing a bunch of worthless hyperbole like I usually do, I just decided to publish this post today. Enjoy.

P.S. The pictures are of Luigiville’s Police Station, and I’ll also post them on MOCPages soon.



Advertisements

Getting A Car Repaired, And Other Acts of God

There are many things that happens in a person’s life. For example, one is born, and then often they go through this period where they get pimples and try unsuccessfully to get dates with girls who have the brains of a squirrel, or look like a squirrel, like this one girl I know who I’ve been trying to get to go out with me (using the bulletproof ploy of teasing her and telling her that she is my enemy, and I hate her). And then, of course, they get a car. And then the worst part of their life, the part that nobody likes, the part that involves dealing with car salesmen and repairmen who routinely use words like “manifold”, which, if you were to question 100 people on the street about, they would agree was some type of dirty word. Either that or teeth (as in mandible). Or that part of a man’s beer belly that hunches over his belt buckle. Anyway, the part of one’s life I’m talking about (remember what I was talking about? I thought not) is…

TRYING TO GET A 10-YEAR OLD CAR REPAIRED

This is a task which is given only to those who God truly hates, such as poor people. Sadly, my mother falls into these ranks. So now, of course, because she has been poor, she has a 10-year-old car which she must get fixed. And so now you’re all screaming at your computer screens “No! Stop! Just buy a new one! Don’t entangle yourself in THAT!!” Except for one small detail: This is an American-made car, which is like a giant white elephant, only less useful. American-made cars are so rare that they are revered, put into museums and cherished, unless they happen to be AMC Gremlins (“gone, but still hated”). Actually, if they are any type of AMC car, now that I think about it.

Anyway, this means that she must take the car to the Ford dealership (“Oh no! Not a FORD!”) and get it fixed tonight. Of course, she had already had it fixed, but again, she had it fixed by people who routinely use the word “mandible.” Or was it “manifold”? Right. Manifold. Anyway, so they didn’t completely finish the job (even though they found a pencil in the car’s right heating ventricle), and so she must go back to the Dealership AGAIN.

I don’t know what will happen, but I’m pretty sure that this means I can’t go to Stephanie (another girl I tried to go out with)’s graduation ceremonies, and I will probably not have enough time to finish my homework either (I know it is finals time at school, it does not matter). All I know is, this article is getting mighty long, and I’m getting mighty thirsty. I think I’m going to get some lemonade. I think my mom might prefer arsenic.

Illegal Immigrants: Can They Complete My Architecture Project?

Public Service Announcement: The following article is in no means attempting to lampoon any civil rights activists. I say this because many people, especially those who normally wear tie-die T-shirts, get extremely angry and attempt to assault people with limp noodles if they say anything about black people or white people or off-white beige people and so on. So again, this article isn’t making fun of anyone. I’m serious. This has been a Public Service Announcement.

Of course, today we saw the illegal immigrants and illegal immigrant supporters of America show their sympathy for their cause by taking off work for a day. Personally, I think they’ve got it easy; why, just imagine if blacks in the South during the 1960s could have done the same. They could have just taken off work, and eventually gotten their civil rights. Can you imagine?

Larry the White Guy: Hey, black person, ha ha ha! You are black!

Bob the Black Guy: Because of that racism, I’m going to take off work for a day.

I think that America should take this approach more often. Less strain on the police and all, and we wouldn’t have to watch footage of big mean hairy police officers attacking defenseless demonstrators who are often wearing loincloths, like Gandhi.

Uh, anyway, so other than that, today we saw all of the people out on the streets not working and sweating and showing America what it would be like if there were no illegal immigrants, or immigrants, or women, or whatever. My grandmother human, being old, has decided that illegal immigrants are bad; I, being a Liberal Rebellious Young Person, have decided to side with the immigrants. I also wrote a long article on immigration in the United States, using phrases like “failed the test of civilization” in the paper, to appeal to my English teacher. I have always felt that illegal immigrants do good things for this country, like, for example, build things, and work slaughtering cattle.

But today I realized two important facts:

  • I had an important architecture project I had to do, involving constructing a tiny house out of wood I purchased from Michael’s Crafts Store, a.k.a. “Flamer’s” or “Old Crafts-Oriented Women’s store”.
  • There were no illegal immigrants around to help me.

Based upon this information, I began to think deeper and deeper about the immigration struggle. Just how important can these farts be if they can’t help me build my miniature house? Because my balsa wood house is far more important than any illegal immigrant family living in Mexico on five cents an hour.

After that, other facts began to pop up, ones which I hadn’t even realized before:

  • I’ve never seen an illegal immigrant at my school, even though I live in New Mexico.
  • None of the lunch ladies at my school look illegal (unless their hair can be counted as such);
  • I suspect that all of the meat in our school lunches comes from North Korea, considering what it looks like. For example, today this one girl, who my friend calls “The Tall Girl” and who I will simply refer to here as “Michael”, was looking at the corn on her plate, and refused to eat it. Others simply prefer to pour chocolate milk on the corn for entertainment purposes.

Armed with this knowledge, I have realized that illegal immigrants are evil. That, or they help America’s economy. Either way, I do not care.

(This has been a Public Service Announcement.)