Tyger Cove

Sideburns For The Internet

Author: tygercove (Page 1 of 2)

Crushed The Raven Nevermore

Ladies & gentlemen, members of the jury, assorted royals, representatives of the Illinois law enforcement community: we have good news. We, as a society, have decided that 2015 will be the year in which we will put to bed the over-used & totally meaningless phrase “crushing it.” Thank you, thank you for your applause. For far too long this inane phrase has been thrown at anything & everything under the sun: retention rates, quarterly sales numbers, whole departments, individual efforts, sports performances, app developers, TV shows, sandwiches, peanut allergies, Victorian mustaches, your mom, etc. “Crushing it” will join other notable retired phrases including:

  • “As if!”
  • “Cool your jets”
  • “Let’s not and say we did”
  • “Get a life”
  • “Who let the dogs out?”
  • “I like big butts (and I cannot lie)”
  • “Margaret Thatch-her? I just met her!”

Clearly there will be exceptions to this policy. The following are the only remaining situations in which it may still be appropriate to use the phrase “crushing it.”

1. Convention center double-books a Monster Truck rally and Fabergé Egg auction.

2. Bull in a china shop. Also, the bull is on meth.

3. A champion sumo wrestler gets matched up against an amateur duck.


4. Epileptic Hodor is given a birthday sledgehammer

5. Chris Christie experiences an unfortunate “skydiving incident” over a petting zoo.

6. Elephant destroys a printer after finding out how much ink cartridges cost.


7. R2D2 fails to shut down all garbage mashers on the Detention Level.

8. Errant bowling-ball vs. hipster ant drinking spilled PBR.


9. NFL Films mistakenly releases defensive linemen orgy episode.

10. Unemployed rhino hijacks a steamroller and exacts his revenge on a cupcake.


Zombie Diary

Day 277
Still feeling pretty sad about losing Sammy, Todd, Papa Walter, and Hamilton Jr. in that old mill. It seemed super zombie-free when we went to bed but it totally wasn’t. There were lots of zombies. Glad the rest of us made it out. Now we’re walking north following the train tracks. I got scared that a train will hit us but Randall said there are no more trains. I was like, “what about a zombie train?” but he told me to shut up and walk. He’s just cranky because a zombie bit off the shoelace on one of his boots. Also because Sammy and Todd were his brothers and they got eaten by zombies.

Day 284
Kev and T-Bone found a huge stash of canned cat food in a grocery store this morning so we’ve been eating like kings all day. Cat kings but still, kings. I told Ashleigh that we should take some of the dry food too because it’s better for our teeth & coats but she said that was only for cats and not people. Whatever. Not gonna feel bad when she has mangy fur and gross teeth.

Day 285
Too much canned cat food. Whole group spent the day in an old bus station just pooping all the time. Wish I had some dry cat food to settle my stomach. Or ginger ale. Either one or both. I feel terrible.

Day 290
I got a splinter from a wooden fence. Didn’t tell anyone. Too tough. Gotta be to survive in this new world.

Day 297
So much drama last night. Randall made everyone vote on who should lead the group. T-Bone kept asking “what’s our longterm plan?” was and making fun of Randall for his missing shoelace and for pronouncing wheelbarrow like “wheel-barrel.” Things got super awkward. Randall was like, “you think you can do better? Fine! Let’s take a vote, you fat prick.” I said let’s do a debate and take questions from the audience but nobody wanted to do that. I tried to ask T-Bone what his beard policy would be if he was leader (I’m pro-beard) but he and Randall were punching each other’s faces by then. Tanya separated them and everyone voted for Randall except for T-Bone, Kev, and Willy. Then we all went to bed angry.

Day 299
Are there lady zombies? I think there’s both but it’s hard to tell.

Day 305
Our third day on the road just cruisin’ along. We found an old bus outside of Memphis and T-Bone got it up and running. We stopped to scavenge some supplies and when we got back to the bus, Tanya was in my seat even though I called “same seats.” I know the world is now a lawless wasteland but come on.

Day 315
The bus broke down and just because I was driving when it happened, everyone blames me. Yeah, it’s my fault. I’m the bad guy for swerving to avoid a squirrel and crashing into a fire hydrant. Everyone was grumbling & whining. On the way to the farmhouse where we’re staying tonight, we saw signs for some place called “Pleasant Haven” which I think is a salad dressing factory. People were talking about how can we get there but I don’t know what the big deal is.

Day 328
We made it to Pleasant Haven (it’s a walled-in town, not a salad dressing factory). Everyone here seems friendly. The head of the place is this super-nice guy we call The Comptroller. When we arrived he was all, “welcome, my friends, to Pleasant Haven. This is a place of safety & order, a true community where all are accepted. This town is the fertile soil from which the resilient seeds of society will spring forth. Pleasant Haven is the rebirth of humanity. And let me say this: there’s definitely nothing weird going on in the storage sheds out back. Also, the storage sheds are off limits. Please remember that. Storage sheds: off limits. But welcome, one and all.” Great guy. So happy to be here.

Day 337
What a place! They have like a whole real scene going on. There’s a barbershop, a general store, a church, an arcade, and two different coffee shops (I go to the one where the barista remembers my name). The Pleasant Haven cafeteria is right near the storage sheds and is super delicious. My favorite things on the menu are:

  • Leg of “Lamb”
  • “Chicken” Fingers
  • Sloppy “Joe” (on Fridays)
  • “Hamburger”
  • The Daily Special (named each week after a lucky member of Pleasant Haven!)

T-Bone says something’s strange about this place but he’s a big party pooper. He said we need to leave and he’s going to have “a serious talk” with The Comptroller about our crew moving on. I told him do whatever pal but I’m staying here.

Day 339
Just had a romantic lunch at the cafeteria with the barista. It went well. I had the special (T-bone Steak) which reminds me that I haven’t seen T-Bone in a few days. I bet he’s doing ok just being a loner. Classic T-Bone.

Day 355
Big news! The Comptroller said I’ve been promoted to Junior Comptroller for “outstanding work in the field of work.” I just need to meet with the Executive Committee in the storage sheds to get my badge. Things are finally looking up.

Amazon Echo’s Acting Career

We couldn’t help but notice that the star of Amazon’s newest and totally not awkward product video looked awfully familiar. A little internet digging yielded the following IMDB entry for the talented & beautiful Amazon Echo.


Icon Set (With Explanations)

A little something for our designer friends: a free set of cutting-edge icons. We’ve also included explanations as to avoid any confusion. Please enjoy and use responsibly.

Yelp Reviews Of Life

Rise and shine

First and foremost: breakfast! What a great idea. Big fan of the “breakfast” thing, especially waffles. And OK, if I had to pick one thing to improve on, it’d probably be the “life is short and goes by fast and sometimes, for no reason, terrible things happen to people you love” part of it. But still: waffles! And maple syrup? Hell yeah!


Well that was awkward

Lots of a cool stuff happened but there were some really embarrassing parts that I have to deduct points for… In 3rd grade, I went to a birthday party and the donkey they rented bit my hand and I threw up because I got so scared. Then in middle school, I kept popping boners at random and inopportune times. Might want to work on that because it’s super-embarrassing. Fewer spontaneous boners (and friendlier donkeys) please.


A magical mystery tour

The best thing ever! You start small & scared but then get bigger and grow and have all sorts of adventures. There are even non-human friends you can have! Like cats or dogs or this one guy I knew had an iguana which is a type of lizard. There are, like, an infinite number of things you can do or try. Loved it!


Work in progress…

Really crowded. Limited number of parking spaces. Often difficult to find a public bathroom. Too easy to get sunburned. Overall it’s a good idea but the whole mess needs work.


Bring back the thunder lizards.

Call me an old-timer but I liked it better when it was that dinosaur joint way back in the day. It’s all fancy and stuck-up now. Someone tried to tell me this scrawny-ass lion was “an apex predator” and I was like “ok, pal… let’s throw Simba in the ring with a t-rex and see how he does…”


Fish are fish.

What a ripoff. You don’t get to pick where you start or who you start with and that sucks. Also, the whole “whales aren’t fish, they’re mammals” thing is way too confusing. They should all be fish. If you swim in the ocean with fins, you’re a fish. Fish are fish.


Worth the wait!

Be prepared for a slow start (mostly just sleeping & crying & shitting yourself). But wait it out because later on you get booze, jazz, girlfriends, fast cars, spring nights in the city, and cool ocean breezes blowing through your bedroom window as you fall asleep. It’s amazing. Also, much later, probably close to the end, you go back to the sleeping & crying & shitting yourself. The middle bit is fantastic, though.


Huge variety but inconsistent quality…

Always kinda considered this whole thing a “tourist trap” but some friends convinced me to give it a shot and I was surprised to find a great selection of people & places. The problem? It’s a trial-and-error process to figure out which ones are any good (a lot of bad apples in the mix). You’ll get it after a while. I loved Miami, the south of France, musicians, and gardeners. Not a fan of New England, fjords, cab drivers, or hedge fund managers.


Totally lost

Loud and confusing. Showed up and got no help. Nobody said what the rules were or what to do. Just wandered around for a while and did some stuff. Not sure what I did or if I’d do it again.


To this I say “meh”

Hate to be a snob but I wasn’t exactly blown away. I though it was way too sentimental and weird in a really contrived way. The whole thing felt like some 2nd-rate Wes Anderson knockoff, to be honest…


oh sweet theyre are no more t-rexes.

lions n big cats suck. bring back thed dinosaurz. remember when we had reall predators?? now its all lame ass cats and wolfs. sharks are ok. what about shark with legs so it could go on land. do that.

Simply splendid

Had a wonderful time. Top-notch service. Quality of the highest order. Was absolutely planning on coming back again but to be quite candid, I am having some difficulty making a reservation. Any advice would be greatly appreciated.


Taco Tuesday: Volume 1

For the first installment of Taco Tuesday, we’re joined by longtime friend of the show and local football legend, Rob Gronkowski. His physical prowess on the football field is matched only by his intense love for tacos. There’s simply no better person to help us “kick off” the Taco Tuesday series. Thanks for reading and remember: soft tacos are for children & cowards.

149099593FB006_NEW_ENGLAND_lee_patsbroncos18_sptsTT_gronk1TT_gronk5NFL: Oakland Raiders at New England Patriots

I Like To Move It

Moving days are here again. Total chaos in the streets. Let’s check in around the greater Boston metro region to see how the local clans are handling the migration:


Moving Vehicle of Choice:
Overloaded Subaru, Prious, or old pickup truck borrowed from local sustainable farm.

Sidewalk Leftovers:
Boxes of Marxist literature, Ikea couches, unwanted less hip vinyl collections, crinkled Obama “Hope” posters, biotech team softball t-shirts, general airy residue infused with a smug sense of social & artistic superiority.

Overheard Conversation:
“I mean, I liked moving day before anyone knew about it. Before it got all mainstream, right?”

Recovery Drink of Choice:
$15 retro cocktail or ironically consumed PBR


Moving Vehicle of Choice:
Rented U-haul, Jeep Cherokee, slightly older BMW 3 series, Kosher moving van.

Sidewalk Leftovers:
Pottery Barn end tables, Zaftigs leftovers, a nice picture frame, $15,478 worth of parking tickets thrown by infuriated non-resident guests, healthy schmeer of clean but boring post-college to late thirties ennui.

Overheard Conversation:
“Well if we want to get crazy, I know this bar in Coolidge Corner that stays open until midnight. I kid thee not.”

Recovery Drink of Choice:
Sam Adams, thank you.


Moving Vehicle of Choice:
Beat up U-haul, parent’s minivan, this sick Ford Explorer my buddy Chuck said we could borrow.

Sidewalk Leftovers:
Shredded furniture, broken halogen lamps, BC paraphernalia, a rat inexplicably stuck in a beer bottle, thick haze of boozed out bros just havin’ a good time.

Overheard Conversation:
“Dude in the apartment across the street? Totally gay. Seriously, bro. Saw him wearing dress shoes.”

Recovery Drink of Choice:
Couple of 12-packs of whatever Chip and Billy bring back. Where are those guys?


Moving Vehicle of Choice:
Whatever truck those fellows we contracted happen to own.

Sidewalk Leftovers:
Persian rugs, Topsiders, last year’s madras patterns, that hideous vase your aunt regifted, wafting aroma of old-money confidence & tanned vacationing

Overheard Conversation:
“I don’t want to argue, Virginia. Just pop Madison’s collar and put him back in the stroller.”

Recovery Drink of Choice:
Pseudo-slumming beer at the Beacon Hill Pub or glass of zinfandel in the back garden.


Moving Vehicle of Choice:
Band van, old Toyota hatchback, stolen shopping carts.

Sidewalk Leftovers:
Punctured stereo speakers, futon frames, puke, a thousand indie/punk/electro-clash dreams (with, like, this cool chill-wave influence I guess).

Overheard Conversation:
“That guy Carlos said he could do some show posters for us. You know, fuckin’ Carlos, man.”

Recovery Drink of Choice:
30-rack of PBR


I’m in the early stages of a new startup. Sure, you can hold & sell public parking spaces now but why stop there? What about a stool at the pizza place, the best swing on the swing-set (third one from the left), or a spot on Revere beach? Please contact me directly if you’re interested in dumping millions of dollars into my face. Jerkspace is almost guaranteed to surpass almost every existing startup in terms of user-base and value. Website mockup is below.


Executive Review (5 Stars)

My friend Jon is hilarious and smart and this is a potent combination. Following a well-earned ban from Yelp, he decided to take his fake-reviewing talents to Amazon where he’s produced some amazing work. A small sample is feature below.


Screen Shot 2014-07-14 at 8.56.37 AMThis orange-juice made a man out of me! (5 Stars)
I was just a boy then. I’d scarcely seen my fifth summer when my father, his gaze heavy with purpose, led me to the top of the hill abutting our lands. Thereupon I spied a lone ox, chained to a post. It was a magnificent beast, well muscled and proud. My father had sharpened his axe upon a stone beside the ox, and as he raised it high, he spoke to me.

“Do not look away,” he said. “For you are almost a man now, and a man should have to see this.”

He drove the axe strong and true, and it snapped the neck of the mighty creature, spilling forth a river of blood upon the iron-streaked soil.

“Hand me your goblet,” my father told me. His tone was solemn and stern.

I handed my father the small metal cup I’d hammered and hewn in our workshop a few weeks prior. He filled it to the brim with the animal’s blood, and handed it to me to drink.

“Drink this,” he said, “For it is by drinking the essence of the fallen that we shall gain their strength and constitution!”

Dutifully I quaffed from the cold, metal goblet, gulping down the warm, briny broth it contained.

“Good,” my father said. And he handed me a second glass, this one filled with a delightfully perfumed orange-drink.

“Drink this,” he said. “It’s pretty good OJ.”

And so it was.

toothbrushesThese toothbrushes bring back fond memories of my apprenticeship to a Greek shepherd! (5 Stars)

When I was a boy of no more than 12 summers, I’d come to wander the countryside, after having lived on the run from the destruction of my father’s ancestral lands at the hands of his own folly. Homeless and alone, I earned my keep on several small fishing vessels off the coasts of the Mediterranean, before finding refuge in the seaside home of one Mr. Hercules Katsoulidis, a Greek shepherd of limited means and boundless generosity. To this day I owe much of my knowledge of animal husbandry, rustic cuisine, archery, wine, and song to the wise words of Hercules Katsoulidis, and I blame him not for the tragedy that soon befell him.

I had just returned to the dinner-table, having spent the afternoon gathering corn-husks and sea urchins for supper, when Hercules burst into the hut, foaming at the mouth, his expression vacant and eerie, a crude machete dangling from his beefy hand. I saw, by the wild and distant look in his eye, and the in-sane smile that crested his lips, that Hercules had been stricken by madness! I would later surmise that he’d contracted the sheep-rabies from a wayward ewe in his flock.

Hercules lurched toward me, salivating, murmuring gibberish from the corners of a mouth that had long ceased to be capable of rendering perceptible human speech. He drew his machete and raised it aloft, and in that instant, I knew I would have to use my limited understanding of the martial arts in order to defend myself.

“Hercules!” I cried. “It is I, the boy who’s come to stay with you! Do you not remember me?!”

The wretched old Greek lunged forward at me in reply, his blade nearly slicing the ear from the side of my skull! I grabbed a splintered broom-handle from the kitchen corner and parried his clumsy blows as best I could, all the while attempting to talk some sense into him.

“Hercules, you old, befuddled fool!” I said. “I’ll do you in if I must! But please, return to your reason! Or have you taken leave of your senses entirely, and do you now stand before me more beast than man?!?”

Sadly, I received the answer to that grim question. Hercules locked eyes with me, and in a low, gutteral growl, he said only this: “Baaaaah. Baaa-aaa-aaaaaaaah! Baaaaa-aaaa!!!”

The rabies indeed! It was too late for him now! My mentor, my savior, my charitable host, had given over his mind to the demon sheep-rabies and had become a madman!

For four long hours, without rest, without relent, I battled Hercules and his machete with my broom-handle to a reasonable stalemate.

“I see,” said I, “That this contest will not be settled by our prowess with these weapons, but with the wits in our skulls!” And at that, I kicked a clod of dirt into the old man’s face, momentarily blinding him. I hesitated to deal the coup de grace the once-proud man probably deserved, and instead, I ran off into the hills under cover of dusk and cloud.

To this day, whenever I brush my teeth with these Colgate Extra Clean Toothbrushes (Full Head – Soft), I think back to my time on the Aeolian isles, and I weep for the man that Hercules Katsoulidis had been, and for the twisted freak he had become. His smile, once so kind and so full, gnashed and gnarled as his mind gave over to madness, and the foam seeped forth from his maw. My smile, ever so soft and refined, maintains its pearly luster on account of these brushes. And with the Lord as my witness, the only foam to fringe the corners of my mouth will come from the rich lather of my toothpaste!


Screen Shot 2014-07-14 at 8.55.40 AM

These shorts saved my prestigious medical career from the accusations of a scoundrel! (5 Stars)

The Rev. Paddington Quincy Farnsworth is a mountebank and a confidence-man of the vilest character. He is an unrepentant peddler of all manner of snake-oils and cure-alls, and he has amassed a considerable fortune in taking advantage of the confidences of willing dupes. I’m not afraid to say that right here and right now, and should he decide to emerge once more from the shadows and the slime to face his critics in the public square, I say let him!!!

On at least fifteen occasions I have had the utter misfortune of having the Rev. Farnsworth attempt to sabotage my spotless medical career, and I’ll brook his nonsense no more! No more!

Approximately two years ago I was delivering a lecture to a distinguished panel of medical researchers at the prestigious Escuela de Medicina in coastal Colombia, overlooking the sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. No less than halfway through the lecture I was rudely interrupted by chants of “Quack! Quack-quack! This man is a quack!”

The audience fell silent, and aghast, I looked out into the sea of distinguished faces, only to spot my accursed nemesis, the Rev. Paddington Q. Farnsworth, unmistakable in his monocle, his freshly groomed beard-tips, and his dusky combat fatigues.

“Quack-quack!” he continued. “This man here is a quack, I say! Quack! Quack!”

Quickly the crowd began to turn on me, and they joined in the blood-frenzy incited by the rascal Farnsworth. “Quack-quack! This man is a quack!” they screamed. Their faces were filled with bloodlust, and it was not long before a rotten potato-peel arced through the air and landed ignominiously upon my brow.

“Nay,” I shouted. “You have been deceived, my friends! ‘Tis not I who am the quack-doctor, but indeed, it is this man who stands amongst you, the vile and reprehensible scoundrel Paddington Q. Farnsworth! Be led no further astray by his silver tongue and impeccable fashion sense!”

The crowd began to realize the error of its frenzy, and quite soon, turned its venomous attentions to the charlatan Farnsworth. Together we chased the devil out of the lecture hall, across the campus of the Escuela, through seventeen miles of harsh jungle, and down to the rocky coastline. The bastard must have known his hour would come, as he was met at the coastline by a band of hoodlums and a crude bamboo raft. Farnsworth and his cronies beat a hasty escape on the vessel, pushing off into the foggy afternoon and out into the bosom of the mighty gulf!

Several years have passed since last I had the grave misfortune to occasion a glimpse of my hated rival, or to suffer the indignities of his slanders. But I credit my Lucky Brand Men’s Linen Cargo Shorts, size 31M, for giving me the comfort and the freedom of movement to have chased the scoundrel Farnsworth across the jungle and out to the unforgiving sea.

These shorts have saved my prestigious medical career from the baseless depredations of a flim-flam man!


sandalThese sandals rescued me from my folly! (5 Stars)
When I was little, my father and I would stroll through the fields in all the lands surrounding our manor, wishing a good harvest and fine tidings to the peasants who worked the soil.

He never meant those words, of course. My father could be a cruel, capricious landlord. One winter, when the driving rains turned the soil to mush, and the mung-beans and wheat-stalks lay rotten in the waterlogged earth, the peasants cried out in starvation and cursed the gods for their ruin.

My father would sing, and he would laugh, and he would prance about the fields in chicken-feathers and a beak, gleefully tearing up the wheat-stalks and tramping them into the dirt. “Cacaw!! Cacawww!!” he would shout, as in his animalistic frenzy, he would torment the villagers and consign their small children to certain demise.

Afterwards we would dine on fine linens and gold-leafed plates. We would feast on fatted lamb and stuffed goat, and we would slurp a hearty stew, and we would drink our fill of exotic, spiced wines from the furthest corners of the world. Oh, how we wanted for nothing! And oh, how this wanton and careless display of opulence enraged the local peasantry! If you listened closely — and my father did not — you’d hear their talk turn to revolution, their words baited with venom, their intentions violent and resolute.

I awoke one morning to find our castle engulfed in flames, my father screaming for his life and fleeing on horseback, abandoning me to whatever cruel fate the revolutionaries had in store for me.

And so I grabbed what little I could, including these fine sandals by Adidas, and I ran out into the dusty streets, beating a hasty escape from the life I had known and all it entailed. I know not where the road ahead will take me. But I do know that I will walk that road in comfort and style, with these reasonably priced and durable Adidas Duramo Slide Sandals in Navy and White, Size 12M.

Spring Incorporated

Let’s be clear about why we’re here: this is an emergency meeting. Let’s forgo the usual bullshit and cut to the chase. Ladies & gentlemen, we’re in trouble.

For millions of years, Spring Inc. has been a universally known & trusted brand. We’re the best at what we do and have dominated the transitional warm weather sector for as long as I can remember. Sure, we’ve never had the insane popularity or market share of Summer Industries but come on, who has? Those guys are untouchable.

You think this is funny, Payne? I’m not sure what you’re snickering at. It’s a miracle you’re even here considering how badly you botched the Perennial Flowers Growth & Distribution Plan last year. Yeah, not so hilarious, right?

Focus, people. Here’s just some of the troubling user feedback we’ve received:

  • “Too much pollen. My sinuses & eyes & face are messed up real good.”
  • “New foliage takes to long to install. What gives?”
  • “I’m confused if I should put my winter coat away or not.”
  • “My young kids saw a massive rabbit orgy in the park.”
  • “Today’s flowers are too show-offy and lack fundamentals.”
  • “Rained out JV softball tournament. Actually, whatever.”

You can write off some of these as the usual whiners & complainers but here’s the deal: our overall numbers are really bad. Like, in the “jam-band festival toilet” bad. Look at the stats:

Spring Stats

We need a full-scale rebrand and a fresh approach to our marketing. We’re gonna’ tear this mother down and start from scratch. We’ll start with a powerhouse campaign, like “April Showers Bring May Flowers (And 50% Off Your Next Taco Bell Spice-Bomb Supreme Purchase).” No? Ok, what about “April Is The Cruelest Month: Sponsored by the MountainDew Extreme Cruelty Half-pipe Tour”? Ok, we can come back to this. Just spitballing here.

Maybe we put some QR codes on the larger newborn animals, slap them on some fawns and calves. Really leverage our animal resources. More geese flyovers, better robin colors, hell, maybe even some bluejays with iTunes gift cards. And as always, we can count on the Bunnies, Kittens, & Chicks Department to bring in some business from our early-adopter cute demographic. Great work as always, Jeff.

Let’s co-promote some stuff with those asshats at Summer Industries, get some good press about how “Spring Inc. Is The Perfect Lead-In to Summer!” They owe us, after all. Janet, you could crank out some article about how our platform integrates perfectly with prom season. Oh! Fashion piece about trends in graduation dresses or early-planting techniques for farmers – sponsored by us. You get the general idea, the usual feel-good crap.

Look: we need to get some temperature consistency, tone down the sexual content, crank up the more desirable animals, and get this smell situation on track. Dammit, people, we can do this. I will not see Spring Inc. become some 3rd rate joke of a has-been. Not on my watch.

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