4-Pack: Bormioli Rocco Coolers & Tumblers

  • Glasses and such
  • For your fancy parties
  • That you’ll convince yourself you’ll have
  • Model: Instead of reviews, we’re thinking about the origin of Model Numbers: 51 A lot of industries have a “The Father of…” or “The Mother of…" terminology, often a stretch, sometimes an outright falsehood. It doesn’t seem like there’s one “inventor” of the model number, but who might be considered most responsible for it?
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Apocalypse Soonish

Read previous entries:
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5

50

Day 6

Dear Journal,

I awake to an empty home and find a note next to my “V” badge.

Take this. Find Hank in the sky. With, well — you might say — love, -GR

I grab the badge and make my way back to Hank’s Mad Ape Den. I don’t know what the gummi bear meant by “the sky” but…

Now I understand, for in the eastern sky, silhouetted against the sun, I see an enormous flying machine. It is in the shape of a chicken, with a zeppelin-like body and many whirring motors along its feet, wings, and coxcomb.

I run, desperate to reach the contraption before it takes flight. I reach the airfield and hide behind a rock as I look for a way in. Dozens of apes are loading large tubs filled with oysters and pearls into its metal bulk.

Suddenly I hear from behind me a pair of marching primates. I scuttle behind the far side of the rock and see, with amazement, that they are —

51

Carrying Virginia. And she is … ALIVE! (In her way.)

I stifle a cry. They are marching her, bound as before, to the flying metal chicken. I watch them drag her flattened, broken body on board but can see her head lolling from side to side in a not-dead fashion. My heart swells. Of course! She wasn’t really dead — she was playing possum.

The engines of the flying machine roar to life, lifting its massive bulk. Many strong ropes tether the craft to the earth. I run forward, desperate to get on board before Virginia and Hank take to the skies. I see an ape sawing the ropes one by one and recognize him as the leader from my initial capture. He sees me.

“Man!” he yells, and charges at me wielding his saw.

We enter hand-to-hand combat — his simian strength against my human wits, the saw poised above my head, now his. We crash against the final tether, which frays and strains with the enormous effort of grounding the flying chicken contraption. The ape leader wrests the saw from my hands and backs me against the taut rope.

“Now,” he says, “you die!”

He swings the saw at my midsection and —

So far today...

  • 144286 of you visited.
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