Morning Newspaper of the Dead

What is the Problem with the Internet? I'll tell You

 

"All right, the problem with the Internet.... I assume you're all familiar with the Internet? Okay, we'll go on. The problem with the Internet, as I see it, has to do with all you handicrafters. Everyone's got a hobby, last time I checked.... So let's say you're a crocheter, just an amateur, getting into the craft, and you come across a problem, something about cross-stitching, all hobbies have cross-stitching, I find.... So, you go on the Internet to find out about cross-stitching, and the top-rated video you find is by someone who's crocheted a replica Neuschwanstein Castle, in scale, with purplish crocheted turrets and crocheted flags, and it's got a crochet Bayeux tapestry in the central throne room, and there's crocheted bedrooms, two hundred and fifty of them, and crocheted lavatories complete with toothbrushes and plumbing, and down under it all there's a crocheted dungeon with chains hanging from the walls and oil lamps and a bastard prince forgotten by everyone save a crocheted retainer, old servant of his royal line, who sneaks up to the crocheted kitchen to steal crocheted food for his master and it's all very disheartening."

 

*

 

A Time Traveller has arrived in our Newsroom

 

"I am a time traveller, and I have come all the way from 2021!"

Our editor-in-chief said: "That's only four years."

"Yes!" said the time traveller. In sad confession: "I wanted to go further, but it's all I could afford."

He was meanwhile glaring around at all the Canadian flags we had all over the place, then he saw the tv that was showing a Canada parade with everyone yelling Canada Canada Canada.

He pulled on his chin and asked: "What happened to genocide?"

My gal Friday asked: "Excuse me?"

The traveller, not quite changing the subject, said: "I left the land of 2021, now knowing 2021 to have been a year in a barbaric age of indigenous child sacrifice--300 in all!--, to find a future utopia in which there was no such disgrace. But--ahoy!--what do I find in lieu? How did Canada change into a land of ... such ... jingoism? Jingoism, I say! Right-or-wrong-ism! Us-against-Them-ismalism!"

He fainted, mostly from the effects of his time-travelling. We found five cushions in the tv department and arranged them beneath him. His lungs had crushed themselves, and he died in ten minutes.

 

*

 

There's Something rotting in your Refrigerator, but You don't want to know what it Is

 

You wake up, and it's Spring. You can hear some birds nattering away, hungrily or lustily. Today is a day to come alive, along with the rest of what's known of creation. The coffee is in the kitchen, so now all you have to do is go down there and make it and drink it.

The canister of coffee gets opened, and there's enough coffee for a Bodem's-worth. If you decide to have a second pot, you'll have to retrieve it from the refrigerator, but really one pot is going to be enough, and what's good for tomorrow can wait 'til tomorrow.

You look out at your little patch of grass and flowers. They are certainly coming along already! There's new growth you can see, along the edges, and you think you should get out there to make sure there's no weeds a-rooting.

The coffee is made, and you pour yourself a cup. The birds are far away, still going on about existence. You know, you could put off the gardening. You could go back to bed. But, alas, you've already had a little coffee.

 

*

 

I can't make Much of this World, and It can't make Much of Me

 

"I read this little item, and I thought about it. I'd heard much the same thing somewhere else, but I didn't make much of it at the time. Now I think I got it figured out, and it's about the structure of the mind, saying it's structurally akin to a hologram.

"I know that with every scientific concept the first analogy that it's used for is the mind, that much I know, but this analogy makes a bit of sense. Follow me. If you cut a hologram in half, you still get mostly the same image, and if you keep fracturing it, you get a bunch of images through which you could re-create the whole.

"The analogy here is that each little bit of your mind can only be made sense of if you, like, fill in all the other parts. Focus on some memory, and it can only be made coherent by filling in all the parts around it, all the way up to your entire mind. That's the analogy, and I think it's good.

"So, watch over it! Who knows what you can uncover?"

 

*

 

If I was into Gadgetry, I'd own a microwave Oven

 

I was hanging out with D and L the other day, out on the back porch, and who should appear but R and S, visiting from Nova Scotia. They hadn't even told anyone they were in town! There they were, on the porch, and it was like old times when we all lived together. S was wearing a vest, and onto this vest she had sewn R's cock, taxidermied erect, and sticking out from her lapel like it was a spike. As she explained, R had castrated himself to prevent any unwanted pregnancy; yes, they were truly in love. Wearing it as an accoutrement was her idea of a pledge pin.

This was par for the course in my circle, though we are starting to grow out of it. I actually went a little bourgie and considered the deed's propriety. Had it been necessary? No matter how devoted you are to the principle of depopulation, was it truly necessary to cut off your own cock? I didn't ask questions.

S, meanwhile, was glancing at my crotch. Was there some other idea going on? Of course not. Women can't be evil.

 

*

 

Scientists discover new Form of Life on the Planet's inner Plate

 

He was an unexceptional imposter, not so different from you and me. He became popular, through no fault of his own, and he didn't know why he was where he was except in moments of unreflection, which came to him at about the same rate as they come to you and me.

He couldn't keep himself from acting like everything was normal. He became famous rather than merely popular, and all he had to do was the same old things in the same old ways. People would ask him: "How do you do it?" and he'd be like you or me and he'd say he didn't really know how. "I could easily be someone else," he'd say, telling the truth, and the others would nod because they all felt the same way.

He was without guile; he told people he was an imposter, and they'd in a sense agree with him, or at least they wouldn't gainsay him. There was nothing he could do about it but just keep on going, and everyone else did the same. He had his mind inside him, which could only give him problems.

 

*

 

Animals discover new Form of Life on the Planet's inner Plate

 

Newsflash! The kingdom of the animals has discovered dirt.

"We had no idea it right there under our noses," said one animal. "Right there, under our very paws or feet or bellies or whatever."

The animal spoke on condition of anonymity.

"It had been rumoured to be thus for a number of years." It scratched its ear before continuing. "However, we thought that animal was just some crank of a cult sort. But no we were wrong, it had been proven to be the case, there's dirt, and it's right under us."

We were pointed to a number of articles in prestigious animal journals and as soon as this reporter has come across the articles we will provide an update.

"We have a next step," said the animal. "We're going to dig down into the dirt, because there must be a reason for it all, and we think the reason is that something is hidden, if you know what I mean."

Human researchers have hypothesized about the existence of dirt for a number of years, but this is the first independent corroboration in history, and we'll keep you updated.

 

*

 

In which our foreign Correspondent relates a lengthy Tale about how He awoke one Morning some Time ago, for this is a Reverie, understand, finding Himself, having planned badly, in a Town some Distance away from where He worked, which was a Place called the Canadian Home Shopping Network, whereupon He quickly stuffed his Belongings (including a faulty alarm Clock) into a Valise and set Out to the train Station, whence He alighted upon a Train, thereafter making It back to his home City, and to his Place of Employment, the mighty Canadian Home Shopping Network, where He set down his Valise near the host's Booth, and proceeded to read the Rundown of Items and gather the Goods to be sold during the three-hour Block, but, noticing a diamond Ring was missing, had to scramble and consult the Producer, who said to use a Substitute and maybe a Star-filter or two to disguise the Error, "We'll get to the Bottom of It later," whereupon the false Item was set up to be videoed while the Host began his Shpiel about the beauty of Diamonds, and our foreign Correspondent thought that Everything was going all right

 

Then my alarm went off.

 

*

 

We have a science Page in the Sunday Edition, and this is the science Page from one Sunday, and it's all about a Meteorite

 

I remember a rock I've known since I knew anything. It was always in the house, and heavy as hell. The story went: it was a meteorite my father or parents found.

It was a football in volume, but it was so hard. The meteor (as I'll call it) had dropped harmlessly into a farmer's field somewhere up around the Holland Marsh in summer 1956.

It did not have a terrestrial origin.

It was E.T.

Have I gotten across to you that it was a rock, mostly iron, and dimpled and punk?

In the den created when father chopped the garage in half, the rock on its shelf was stronger than the wood and brick beside and beneath it, and was generally indifferent.

In 1984, I went to the city, and I left that old rock behind. In all the years between then and now, there hasn't been one without a dream of the rock.

From Caledon Court or Port Hope, it is asking us if we got what it takes to last a billion years.

 

*

 

Something Joy and happiness Something

 

I was walking across the park when my cellphone rang, which was an unusual occurrence. I fished it out of my satchel and said "Hollo" hesitantly.

"Hello, J--? It's me, T--."

"Oh wow hello there! It's been a long time! How are you?"

"I'm okay. Anyway, I'm calling to apologize for the phone call you got a couple weeks ago from Tabitha."

I recalled the call. "Oh, was that about you? You're Theresa?"

"Yes, that's my real name. Sorry to have alarmed you so."

"I didn't know what the call meant at all. I thought it was a mistake."

"No, but it was a mistake. She didn't have to call. I'm calling you now."

"What was it about?"

"I wasn't well at the time. I was sick. I couldn't keep anything down, but I was so hungry!"

"You're better now?"

"Yes, I had an operation. They took out the things that make you hungry, and I'm okay now."

"Sounds drastic."

She laughed ostentatiously. "They got 'em bottled up, so they'll put 'em back later on."

"I see."

"So anyway, sorry about the weird call. All's well."

The line disconnected, and now it's May.

 

*

 

The Copyboy asked Me to give Him the Keys to Wisdom

 

I dreamed I was in a park, High Park, on a Sunday, on the west side of its little river, up a ways to where they have the Shakespeare stage set, with Cheryl, and we were both more than a little high plus more than a little drunk. In my dream I managed to put a year to it: 1992. Early summer 1992. We'd run out of wine, and the LCBO could close soon.

"Yes," I said: "Bless the Lord for Sunday shopping."*

"Kerouac!" she cried. "Kerouac could get us wine!"

"I can get us wine."

"Run, Swift, Run!"

I ran down the hill to the creek and up the other side. By streets, I got to Dundas West Street, near the tracks. I confidently bought a bottle of red and dashed back to the park.

I ran down the hill to the creek, and I didn't fall. The momentum took me up the other side, to Cheryl. (She had been reading Dharma Bums recent, wherein it was written: You can't fall down a hill.)

 

*1992, as I dreamingly believe, was the first year of LCBO hours on Sundays.

 

*

 

Sometimes It's too Noisy in Here, and We can't think of Anything to write About

 

"Look for the girl, and you'll find the treasure," said the people in the lower balcony.

"Look for the treasure, and you'll find the girl," said the people in the upper balcony.

I'd been in the middle of my star aria, and those statements came in the piano part, as I was winding up for my final vocal blast of the performance. We performers acted like it was part of the score, and plowed through to the rest. I couldn't leave the stage, because I was in the trio two numbers next.

After the curtain calls, I expected someone to mention the interruption, but no-one did. I was desperate, so I found my friend Katherine with her props of silver and gold. I asked her if she'd heard it, and she said no.

"Absolutely not. I was watching the whole aria from the wing, and there wasn't any interruption."

"I heard it quite clearly. They were almost yelling."

She laughed lightly, touched my arm, and said: "Oh, Joe, you've some imagination!"

By the time I figured it out, we were married and had two kids.

 

*

 

We had to take This to human Resources, because It seemed like It was their Thing

 

He said: You've always had the advantage of me, and I don't think it's fair.

She said: What possible advantage did I ever have over you?

It's about birthdays.

Mine's not till late September.

That's entirely the problem. Mine's in early August.

So, you were born, like seven weeks before me. You're older. What's the disadvantage?

I started school when I was five-point-one years old, and you started school when you were five-point-nine years old.

What's the disadvantage?

You were ten months older than me when you started, and you probably know half the stuff already. Meanwhile, I was constantly trying to catch up.

That's your grievance? I was more prepared than you?

Don't you see what it means to be constantly catching up through all those years of education? Or to be constantly ahead?

Wow, this is a serious problem!

Now, now.

Where's the U.N. when you need it?

It's true, statistically true. On average, the advantage was yours.

Instead, you could be just a natural-born retard.

You make me feel like one.

Kissy-kissy! There's nothing wrong with you, except for your inferiority.

 

*

 

We have a Woman in Town who can copy Things

 

The Internet drew her to my attention, and since I'm city beat, I felt a responsibility to commit a human interest article to paper.

"Come in, come in," she said. She was 42, unmarried, and had been struck by lightning during a flood in the Balkans.

"My sources say you can copy things from a distance."

"Oh?"

She smiled.

"Someone holds up a recording, and you can duplicate that recording."

"Yes, it's an odd gift, having to do with enmeshed bosons, I understand."

I held up my notebook. "What's this say?"

"It had my name and address on it, along with a doodle of a flower."

"That's right. However, you could have deduced that."

"Yes, I could have cold-read your expression."

I opened my satchel and searched. I found a USB key, the backup of my great novel-in-progress. "What's on this?"

She puzzled and stared. "I can't tell. It's all circuitry of some sort, but I don't know what the circuits mean, if they mean anything at all."

"I think I've found my angle. You can't do digital."

"I suppose I should brush up on my modernity."

She smiled again.

 

*

 

We think it's Time for a film Review

 

What is this horror genre, and where did it come from?

For a 2nd, the genre contains romanogothic novels and writers, like Castle of Otranto and Ann Radcliffe, and all their descendants.

For a 1st, it's full of creepy death and grave mysteries and ancient curses and dead-end doors, and even if it doesn't look like you're in a castle, you're inevitably in a castle: someone else's castle.

Everyone is unhinged in some way or another: all of the characters, every one of them. This aspect conveniently leaves the compositor off the hook, since errors can always be blamed on the unhinged characters.

Someone in the narrative is carrying a curse, and, since you're a participant, it could be you! You, the viewer!

(However, that narrative trick only worked once, somewhere a long time ago, so you can only do it once in your life.)

Everything seems fated to occur, and although we may wish to sit back and just watch it do its thing, we rather believe in it; and we know the stories are true, and more true than real. We invented Romanticism, and we invented it for a purpose.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, from Somewhere in Australia, We've picked up Something from a Stringer

 

The King, in his palace about ten miles upstream from a city at the mouth of his like-named river, was thinking far too seriously about the passage of time in relationship to his own personal age. Everything was clearly going downhill for him. What did he have to show for it? Two sons, two daughters. The daughters were off in other realms, and the sons were the sons. The elder son was a member of the high parliament, and the younger son was the realm's treasurer. The brother got along well, to all appearances.

The King was relieved circumstances were as such. He could go to his rest, he could travel into the forest, and things would go well. Perhaps he could do such a thing in the coming days. Yes, it was time to retire, so he called his boys in to see them and to make the announcement. The boys told them they had seen it coming, so they weren't at all surprised. The King packed up a few of his belongings, and departed. Never to be heard from again. Meanwhile, the realm fell to anarchy.

 

*

 

You know, at Times, It's like You can give and give and never get Anything back in Return

 

The question was: "What are you doing over there across the street?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Every Tuesday afternoon, even though you go in the back or something, I can see you in there."

"That's crazy. It's not true. I go into the office on Tuesdays."

"You're not at the office for all of Tuesdays. I called this afternoon, and you were, ahem, unavailable."

"That's because I was unavailable. There's always a lot of meetings on Tuesdays."

"I'm only interested in the meeting you hold across the street every Tuesday afternoon."

"There's no meeting. You're making a mistake, Dolores."

"Don't Dolores me. You're over there, and you're with someone."

"You think I actually have time for any of that?"

"You make the time for it. The only challenge is making the time."

"It must be someone who only looks like me."

"Why does he go in the back way?"

"How should I know? In any case, why would I do it there, right across the street from you? There's plenty other places available."

"Oh, I don't know, I don't."

 

*

 

This is the arguments Page, and Herein People argue about the slightest Things

 

The election was over, and a new leader had been chosen.

The old leader wandered around the house he was about to be evicted from, much like the old guys of Garcia Marquez's stories. He looked over all the objects which weren't his and never would be and never were.

His wife tracked him down in the back of the Grand Ball Room. She was resigned to her fate. Being an adjunct faculty's wife wouldn't to be as bad as it sounded, she was sure. Still, she had to be brutally honest.

"You're leaving the place in a shambles," she stated. "Where'd you go wrong? It can't be just a matter of the times we live in."

The old leader envisioned what remained and said: "It's a good pension. We got no worries."

""We don't, but everyone else does. Could anyone count the number of lives you've ruined?"

"I have my pension."

"Our children are pariahs."

"Time heals all wounds."

"You'll never have to pay for your deeds, will you? It's only a matter of your personal reputation that's at stake."

"I have my pension," he repeated.

 

*

 

This is what We have instead of an advice Column, and It's pretty one-sided

 

"I knew this guy once. I met him at a job someplace, and we got along. He was a pleasant guy, and we kept up acquaintances for a very long time. One day, he said to me: 'It's extraordinary for us to be here, at this time.' He went on to tell me about his world.

"He told me he couldn't explain it. How was it that he was at that place, at that point, in space and time? He told me about the music he'd heard, which was music not heard anywhere else in time. He said the world was generally at peace in his time, which was a rare thing history-wise. How did it come about he was there, and then?

"He only had one explanation and that was that the whole thing had been designed for him. He was in an empty space, and everything he saw and heard was a sort of illusion. 'I'm actually not anywhere at all,' he told me.

"Poor guy. He wound up in an insane asylum, and that's all I know.

"Some ideas can make you mad."

 

*

 

This One has the shortest Title of them All, and the Title is Ford Farlaine, and There's nothing More to be said about the Title

 

I was walking along a desolate coastal California scenic road when I came across a lovely sportscar parked on the side inland from the ocean. The thing was bright red, and I could see the name on the side of it: Ford Farlaine. I walked around it three times admiringly. There was a big box behind the driver's seat, and, after looking around my self and seeing no-one about, I opened it. Inside were plastic assembly models of the very same car, and some cans of bright red spray paint and a notebook.

"You'd better not be messing around to steal the car or some-such," said someone behind me. I looked around to discover John Steinbeck or someone looking a lot like him.

"Oh, no, I won't." I picked up the notebook and opened it. There was some childish handwriting inside, and I knew it was my own childish handwriting.

I showed it. "My handwriting, thus my car."

"Case closed," said the guy: "The car's yours." That's when I knew it wasn't really John Steinbeck.

 

*

 

Our music Critic is busy Tonight, so This is his Temp writing

 

In the afterlife, Herbert von Karajan is ruminating on his earthly life and wondering if he can ever make amends. He runs into Felix Mendelssohn. "Gee," begins Herbert: "I'm really sorry for that stuff I did."

Felix replies: "What stuff?"

Herbert says: "Oh, sorry, after your time."

Herbert von Karajan continues walking, and he wonders if he's over-doing it all a bit. He'd been very young, certainly, at the time, and it wasn't like he joined the Party three times or something.

Then he runs into someone he remembers from the New York days. If it ain't Lenny Bernstein! Herbert runs up to him and says: "I understand it's all come out. Someone searched the records, and so...."

Lenny interrupts: "Oh, I know all about it. You joined the Party twice. Once wasn't enough, was it? You wore the badge. I would have been wearing one too, he-he-he, if you know what I mean, of a different style, get it?"

"I want to apologize. If I'd known, I'd, I'd, I don't know."

"Not to worry."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Your punishment's coming. Es wird größer sein, als Sie glauben können."

 

*

 

Either Dot Wordsworth's Husband is a Masochist or ignorant when his Wife writes her Column on the last Page of the Spectator

 

He held the pasty meat gloop up to me and he asked: Is this a breast?

I replied: That's a half-breast.

He said: It looks like a whole breast to me.

He continued: Women have breasts, but a chicken has one breast. Is that how it works?

I, Dot, replied: I'm chopping carrots, and I don't have a Provencal dictionary handy. The two meanings of breast may not be related.

He pushed himself up against me from behind and cupped my right breast in his hand. He grunted. I said: I have to think about my carrot.

He grunted: You have two beasts, I feel, but a chicken only has one?

I, Dot, said: Oh, la. I've been dripping it out all day.

Once he'd shoved down my trousers and plugged up my wet spot, he said: How's the etymology going?

pumping

Fine.

pumping

He grunted: So, what's a breast? What's the derivation?

I couldn't stop coming, because his cock was hitting my sweet spot.

I cried: All you need is love, and you fuck me so well!

 

*

 

If You're going to travel, We will do All your Bookings

 

Open up your door and go outside. You've already done some travelling, but why stop there? The world is a bigger place than just your front stoop, so go down to the street.

There, you've gone 1000 percent further already. You could turn left or right. There's nothing to prevent you from going forward, is there? (Except for the cars going by quickly.) Go to the left, down the sidewalk, until you reach a bigger street.

The pattern is travel is going from an area that is small to areas that are bigger and bigger, until you reach maximum traffic wherein you are nothing more than an insignificant bit of luggage, then reversing the process until you are again at a small area, and your personality has once again become maximal.

You've made it to a bigger street by now. Look around, and go in the denser direction. At some point, change your mind, and go in the lesser populated direction.

The arteries get smaller and smaller until you're in a whole other place that's not really that different from where you began.

Your journey is finished. Be touristy.

 

*

 

News Flash

 

Yesterday afternoon, three customers made their presence known, at the M.C. McCafferty general store on Main Street, to the employees who were employed in arranging the canned peas display, set slightly to the left of the wooden street-side entranceway.

One of the customers said: "You certainly know how to stack cans," to the younger of the employees.

The employee, Jack Vance, looked up and replied: "it's all in the arcs," which was a phrase often used, an in-joke, as they say, whenever cans had to be stacked, which the establishment had picked up from an earlier employee, Ebon Nickel, long since retired.

The other vocal customer (so designated since the third customer said not a word during the entire exchange) said: "You two, we've got word you're the best can-stackers for a hundred miles."

The other employee, Angel August, asked: "Where did you hear that?"

The first customer said: "Word gets around, word gets around."

The customers continued watching the stacking until it was complete.

"And you got the math right," said the second customer, "with one can is at the very top."

"There's a trick to it," said Jack.

The customers left, after saying: "We'll be back."

 

*

 

Paper's almost ready to go to Bed, but There's still some Time for more Copy, and This just in

 

I wonder what makes them all tick, he wondered as he sat at a window seat. There's a hundred people in this place, and they are in all kinds of groups. It looks like there's a birthday party going on over there, three couples, and they're laughing crazily. Don't they know what's coming?

Can't they sense the asteroid heading this way? The one that will wipe everything out? Ah, they must be avoiding the question, if that's what it is. Is it a question? Can there be a question without an answer? Who wrote The Unanswered Question? Charles Ives? I bet it was Charles Ives.

I sit and I watch. I'm happily ignored in this tavern, and it suits me just fine, but I guess you got that figured out. I have no question on me. I'm just a stranger.

I could come up with something disgusting and shocking, something for anyone to react to. But I can't think of anything extraordinary. This is the emptiest time of the night, and I'm pretty finished.

Maybe just one more. I'm not sleepy.

 

*

 

Here is a pre-fab Apology to Anyone in the death Business, because I suspect the Writer gets more than a few Facts wrong

 

A road.

A tree.

ONE is sitting under the tree.

TWO enters, looks around, and says to ONE: "Excuse me. Do you know the owner of the graveyard in town?"

ONE replies: "I am the owner of the graveyard in town. Right in the middle of the town."

"You're just the person I was seeking! I am from Government, and we're raising your property taxes sky-high."

Startled: "You can't do that. We have costs fixed like nobody's business."

"That, I am afraid, is entirely your problem. The land has leapt in value, and we can force you to pay more. You now have a shopping mall on one side, and an Ikea on the other."

"I didn't put them there."

"Alas, that is true, but you have to pay extortionately more nonetheless."

"How can I do that?"

After some thought: "You could raise your rents, that's what other landlords do. Pass the costs onto the customers."

"All my renters are dead."

"That's not my problem."

"Is there any way out?"

After some thought: "Perhaps you could die?"

 

*

 

Before we hit the Advertisements on the Endpaper, some Schmo thought He would put together an Index

 

1. Writing implement, as used by ourselves, to inscribe the words we are using to communicate

1.1 Pen, Sharpie Permanent Marker Fine/Ultra-Fine, a stick through which black ink flows when held in a vertical position

1.1.1 Ink, black thick meniscuous liquid carried through some kind of a spongy tube located in the pen (q.v.)

2. Paper, flat surface made in this case of tree pulp fibre set freely upon a plane and pressed and cut

2.1. Tree, probably a spruce tree, probably from Canada, possibly from Ontario

3. Hand, left hand or right hand or middle hand, multipurpose extension capable of manipulating, rather the manipulator, if you go back to the Latin

3.1 Fingers, extensions of the extension hand, each operating independently to hold the pen and move the pen in order to put ink to paper

3.1.1 Tips, as of fingers, as of fingers as of hand, precision instruments used to sense and adjust exactly where the tip of the pen should be and how to create lines both straight and rounded with the assistance of an organ, below called

4 Eye

 

*

 

This is the Endpaper

 

Tired of your worthless old dreams?

Did you know I'll pay CASH for them?

Yes, I will!

Cash money on the barrel for the ones you aren't interested in anymore!

You know those dusty things you've got stored away in your attic? I'll take them off your hands, and give you MONEY--lots of MONEY--for them!

You know those worthless dreams about boyfriends and girlfriends you lost a long long time ago? Heavens, he or she could easily be dead right now!

Sell me your old useless dreams! The address: 27 Parkway Road South, Z5F 2N5

 

*

 

Looking for something new and exciting in the way of dream?

You'll go to the right place if you come to me!

Fresh dreams, barely used dreams, hidden treasure dreams!

You won't believe the bargains you're going to find in my emporium! Things you've LITERALLY not dreamt of before!

All at low discount prices, warehouse prices. Precious dreams that'll give you a new lease on life!

New ways of thinking. New ways of knowing. Did I mention our low prices?

Don't forget: bargain basement savings!

Come buy some new dreams! The address: 27 Parkway Road South, Z5F 2N5