Dearest Sponge,

I don’t know how many ways I can let you know that the time has come for us to part ways.. Didn’t you get the hint when I tossed you into the garbage those 5 times? But yet every day I wake up and there you are AGAIN…Did you jump out of the garbage can? Or did you convince someone else in the house you were still worthy of being part of this home….i mean it is not like I hate you or anything like that you pulled your weight around here.. cleaning all those places that nobody else would dare to go too.. And still even after the little incident in the toilet you were there for me … But now this is getting scary.. last night when I went to use the facilities I step on something slightly wet I jump back to see what it was and there you were .. Looking innocent on the rug.. are you stalking me? I thought the only way to finally let you know how I feel is through this board.. HELL everyone reads it right? why not you? I’ve found a new home for you .. As of this evening you will bunking with the neighbors dog Cujo..he I know will give you the much wanted attention you seem to be wanting and don’t worry about us .. we have found someone else to fill your place his name is Toilet Brush ..

fondly yours,
Your house mate..

It’s time to say farewell to a beloved friend and a piece of my personal history.

My good ol’ brown chesterfield.

See, I met me a nice ladyfriend, and we’ve decided that ol’ Brownie no longer suits our needs. It’s a bachelor couch, and I’m no longer a bachelor. This is not to say men only, oh no. It’s just that this couch has treated my friends and me well for many years, and I’d prefer to see it go to some nice folks who will enjoy it…four reasonably-sized asses can sit comfortably on it while playing video games, watching DVDs, drinkin’ beers…it’s a great couch that brought a lot of joy to those asses, and it’s got a lot more ass-joy in it yet.

Yes it’s ugly, and no it’s not in wonderful shape, but its surface is even and its springs have not yet sprung their last. it has been, and may yet be, the site of many lazy Sunday naps. You can see that Jack and Squirrelly are also bidding their adieus. It is surprisingly comfortable and most of my houseguests over the years have preferred it to my horrible hide-a-bed. And though many weary drunken heads have passed out on it, it has never been puked on while in my care.

The price? Well, I’d give it away but I’d feel bad about it.

In the spirit with which ol’ Brownie has been enjoyed, here’s the deal:

You come get it, bring a case of beer, and it’s yours. I’ll even help you load it. The beer’s gotta be something decent � la Granville Island, OK Spring, or the like…I will not trade such a fine and loyal friend for yellow pisswater. I don’t want the $20…you have to bring the beer. I think the type of folks who’ll see the importance of giving ol’ Brownie a good home will understand.

Email me with your contact info and we’ll sort you out.

Cannibal Goldfish…
They seem like regular goldfish… they sort of look like this…
Innocent looking… But little do you know… they ate 2 black moors, 1 lionhead goldfish, 1 calico telescope, 1 bottom feeder, 2 ghost shrimp, and 1 snail.
I thought they died of natural deaths at first, but after my last calico telescope goldfish died, it became apparent why these two delinquents are always the last man standing… THEY’VE BEEN PICKING AT THEIR FISH-FRIENDS!!
Please! Take them, but leave them in their own tank! They’ll be ready to be picked up starting Monday (August 30th) Please have your own method of transporting them. (a bottle… whatever). I’ll provide the net to catch those murderers.

How fondly you recall it now- that night long ago, a small gathering of friends and acquaintances around the pot of simmering oil on your dining room table. You’d been flirting with Becky from payroll for some time, and had hoped her presence this evening might be just the kick-start your romance needed. How right you were, my friend.

Who can say exactly how it happened? Perhaps it was simply the combination of the wine flowing, the imported cheeses passing around the table, and at the center of it all, skewered meat cooking on the ends of color-coded forks. In your head, you’d assigned symbolic meanings to the colors of these utensils. You yourself had chosen the red fork, to signify the heat of your attraction. Surely Becky’s choice of green was the Fondue Gods’ way of urging you on with the color for “go.”

So when Becky pulled her fork from the bubbling oil to find it clean, shining, devoid of the chicken nibblet she’d been expecting to enjoy, you confidently leaned over and murmured in her ear, “You know Becky, Swiss custom dictates that when a woman loses her dipper in the fondue, she must kiss the man of her choice at the table.”

Blessed were you to be the man of Becky’s choice that night. The kiss you shared there, before your friends, was only a prelude to the passion that would overtake the pair of you later, when the others had gone and she lingered behind “to help clean up.” It occurred to you as you licked the dipping sauce from her navel that this experience was quite like the fondue itself- sensual, heated, and making a mess of your dining room table.

The last coherent thought that passed through your mind before the two of you gave into exhaustion that night was- “I’m so glad I bought that fondue set on Craigslist.”

I was out riding with my buddies John and Roger–nothing special just another headlands loop, when John turns to me and says, “damn dude that stem is as long as a cat’s leg”. This being a fairly weird thing to say, even for John, I figure a follow up question is in order. “Uhm, I didn’t know you had a cat?”.

“Oh sure, I just love cats. I get a couple new ones every month.”

I’m starting to worry as I’ve been to John’s house and haven’t really noticed any cats hanging around. “Man that’s like 24 cats a year, where do you keep ‘em all?”

Meanwhile Roger sensing that we’re not paying attention takes a flyer off the front as we hit the flat spot on the Conzelman climb. John takes off after him.

I’m thinkin’, “Dudes been eatin’ his cats, gotta be.”

By this time Roger and John have put 100 feet into me and I’m still thinking, “What’s a cat taste like?” When I decide it’s either time to bridge up or time to call the SPCA.

Facts, I need more facts! They’ve just turned left past the tree at the fork, gets a bit steeper here. It’s now or never. I’m starting to come back a bit, yanking on the bars, “hey this stem is nice, bit long though…. long as a cat’s leg“.

Which leads us to this fabulous 130 mm (1 cat leg) / 26mm clamp diameter / ibis titanium road stem. 150.00.

It really is quite beautiful.