Shirley Temple, shaken not stirred

The seal has finally broken. I have reached the climax of my sartorial evolution, now anticipating only a drawn-out denouement in my fashionable future. From here on out, my blog posts will be filled with the mundane. I will only write about boring medical school trivialities, and soon my only reader will be a spam-bot automatically adding comments about how I should invest in a Mongolian time-share. What is this great moment that will be the apogee to my existence? I have purchased my first bow-tie.

Pictured above: Now, I am one step closer to being James Bond. I already wear a high-tech watch (hour hand AND minute hand!) and objectify women. We both also remain inexplicably alive after many near-death experiences and have gotten progressively worse since the 1980's.

Now that I am a real bow-tie-owning man, I have no need for this artificial travesty.

Pictured above: This fake bow-tie is only appropriate for high-school prom or as an accessory for a dog marriage.

Speaking of black things I have just acquired, here are some airtight jars I found at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. They were discovered during my usual routine of walking directly to the clearance bin, shoveling anything worthwhile into my bag, and then unashamedly asking to use a coupon at the checkout kiosk.

Pictured above: All this for only $11! Their contents are (from left to right) water, gunpowder, shards of glass, crickets, mercury, and ice (now water). I'm glad that I won't have to go all the way to the pantry when I need to reload my musket.

All right. I've bragged enough about my bourgeois lifestyle for now; if you will excuse me, I've got some gourds to roast.

Pictured above: [grabs microphone] So what's the deal with pumpkins? They are so terrible, people would rather rip out their slimy innards and stab out a face with a knife than try to eat 'em. I'm sorry. You know I love you, pumpkins.