"Doing Absolutely Nothing Since 1982."
The Holy Grail Press is dedicated to promoting work that standard publishers... you know, those with standards, might be reluctant
to publish, which pretty much leaves poetry. And let's face it: No one publishes poetry. So in the end,
we’re left with a lot of free time.
...What's Old at the Press
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
4:51 pm pdt
are numbers that only come out even if the number line is bent. Expressed as a Tupardic Number, Pi comes out even (3.1422),
along with numbers such as the sum of 20 divided by 3 (6.66). Dr. Tupidsay also claimed that, when fully understood,
what he termed the “Tupardic Ruler” could be used to precisely measure sphered surfaces, such as the earth, and
when measuring time and space it would make the Theory of Relativity obsolete.
Dr. Ivan Tupidsay first postulated his theory at the Numbers Are Fun! educational conference
in Akron, Ohio, in the fall of 1992. Since that time, Dr. Tupidsay’s theory has come under fire throughout academia,
as well as the public sector. The main complaint was that the bend in his ruler seemed arbitrary, other than it was
always a parabola.
Dr. Tupisay, in
defense of his theory, argued that, left to its own devices, nothing in the Universe would be naturally straight, and even
our concept of “straight” is based on a fallacy. “After all,” he argued, “the most absolute
measure of straight that we have is a beam of light, but it has been proven that light bends. So why not bend our rulers,
Be that as it may, his critics
argued, even if Tupardic numbers were correct, they have no practical application in the real world. Dr. Tupidsay, in
an attempt to prove that his theory was superior and that it did, indeed, have practical applications, built a house using
a Tupardic Ruler as his only measuring device. Fortunately, nobody was hurt.
Monday, May 27, 2013
10:50 am pdt
Why I Hate My Job
Interview #780: Custom Fabricated Fiberglass Fauna
I make custom fabricated fiberglass fauna, which is just about
the dumbest thing I can think of for anybody to buy, but as long as some fool’s willing to give up his hard-earned money
for it, I’m willing to make it for him. You know... I make big, silly animals made of fiberglass. They say
settin’ ‘em on the roadside brings in business. If that’s true, then I don’t know what’s
dumber. You know, the big Hereford on a trailer that sits outside them restaurants? We make those. We don’t
make the trailers. That’s extra. Like you’re going to do anything with it without a trailer.
That stupid cow is one of our pre-cast models. There’s a whole slew of models that everybody seems to want.
Who knows why? Elephants. Big, stupid looking gorillas. Cowboy hats. Boots. I know them last
two’s not technically fauna, but we make a whole lot of them boots. Somebody has to. Really, I don’t
make any of ‘em. I have before, but anymore I just give a picture of whatever you want made to my cousin’s
oldest boy, Elmo. Swear to all that’s holy, she really did name her only child Elmo. That poor child’s
been tickled so much it’s done made him addled. Boy’s as dumb as a dim light bulb. He didn’t
even graduate from the sixth grade. But you give him a picture of somethin’ and a vat of fiberglass, and he can
whip it up. Thing is, there’s really no profit in it a’ tall. Why, I’d make more money checkin’
groceries down at the Whirlly Mart. But then my cousin’s boy wouldn’t have a job. So I make custom
fabricated fiberglass fauna. Not that the boy’s ever said thanks, but I guess that’s the thanks I get.
Friday, May 24, 2013
4:04 pm pdt
Why I Hate My Job
Interview #555: Mummified Animal Parts
I’m a buyer for the Tut Corporation. Mind you, I’m not a salesman. No siree. I’m a buyer. Though
I’ve certainly earned my dues knocking on doors.
We deal in Novelty Mummified Animal Parts. You know... Animal parts that have been mummified and are sold as novelty products. I always
thought the name pretty much explained it, but I almost always have to repeat myself. I don’t know
why. We deal in tails, mostly.
Some folks like the ears. Never
much understood what people saw in ears. I was always a traditionalist: Paws. Mostly from small rodents. Muskrat. Squirrel. Did you
know, most rabbits’ feet are actually squirrel?
Now there’s somethin’ you won’t learn
in college. You ever see a real rabbit’s foot? Try getting that in your
pocket. Of course, there’s the whole specimen. Iguanas. Alligators. Armadillos. Those are the big sellers. ‘Though I’ve never understood
why somebody would want a dead armadillo sitting next to their TV. You can’t just hack off the foot
of some bunny and shove it in your pocket, you know.
There’s an entire process. Next time
you see a rabbit’s foot, sniff it. Get your nose right up on in it. You know
what your gonna smell? I’ll tell you what. Nothin’. Well,
if it’s done right. And it’s not just because you’re not smelling it. It’s
all part of the process. Take this one here.
It’s an XL-419. That there’s
a collector’s item. They don’t come in that color anymore. But don’t
think the rabbits come in on their own and offer us their body parts. Now there’s a nasty job, worse
than selling them: Working in a rabbit’s foot factory. And we’re regulated,
too. These fellas that are willing to provide you with the cougar tails and the elephant end tables... they’ve just taken it too far, if you ask me. Too far.
Monday, May 20, 2013
11:40 am pdt
Why I Hate My Job
Interview #489: Owl Technician
I service owls. I’m an owl serviceman. I have
no affiliation whatsoever with the chain of restaurants, and I wish people wouldn’t even bring it up. Did you
know that owls are the most common raptor that people keep in their homes? That’s not something I would make up.
Everybody thinks that having an owl is easy, but you’d be surprised at all the maintenance that needs to be done.
Why, in the wild an owl keeps its talons trimmed by ripping apart cute little animals. They don’t do that in captivity...
not usually. Talons aren’t easy to trim, and don’t you let anybody tell you different. Why, if they
do, well... they’re just storyin’. And then there’s the beak! There ain’t no formal trainin’
to becoming an owl maintainer. It’s more of an apprenticeship. I learned from a feller named Diffeldorf.
Only had one eye, and he lost half his tongue, but that had nothin’ to do with owls. Couldn’t even pronounce
his own name. This little finger of mine? It ain’t real. But you can’t tell. I suppose
you could if I had to use it more than I do. They called that bird Buddy. More like a Buddy to Satan. You
ever see an owl sittin’ on somebody’s arm? They’re just waitin’ to tear your cheek off.
It’s hard to get that to look right again. Thing is, owls are just mean. There ain’t no other way
to say it, unless it was in a different language and it meant the same thing. When it comes down to it, there ain’t
no glamour in maintainin’ owls, and it don’t pay worth a hoot. Hey, I made a joke. But I do
get to work indoors, which is a relief, what with knowing that there are owls hiding everywheres, just waiting to tear the
fleshy part of your wrist open. Now... I don’t want to sound like a sissy, although I guess technically I am,
but that would hurt.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
9:25 am pdt
Why I Hate My Job
Interview #254: Tuna Tom
Tuna Tom’s my name. You may have heard of me. I was the “Tuna
Tom.” Well, I mean, that isn’t really my name, but who’s going to buy a sandwich from somebody named
Phil? Back in the early ‘70s I started a chain of restaurants that sold tuna sandwiches. You know, with
wheat or white bread, toasted or untoasted – you throw in a piece of lettuce – you got a lot of choices.
It came with a pickle, too. Not just a piece of one. We’re talkin’ the whole thing. And not
those little ones, either. Kosher Dill. But only the pickles. The rest of the place wasn’t certified
kosher. That’s a lot of work. Everybody told me that nobody would want to pay for something out that they
could just as easily make at home. I was determined to prove them wrong. And I did. We had restaurants throughout
the Northwest and was spreading into Idaho and Montana. Then one day, everybody suddenly got tired of tuna sandwiches.
Either that, or it suddenly dawned on the morons that they could make the same thing at home but wouldn’t have to choke
down an entire pickle. In a way, it was a relief to be done with the business. The most disappointing thing, though,
is finding out that booze, women, and sports cars were not sound financial investments. Never hire a broker who drives
a car you can’t pronounce. So now? Now I drive a bus. It’s a tour bus for OMG Tours. I
don’t own the company. It’s better that way. More of a profit margin and there’s fewer law suits.
We specialize in natural disasters. We take groups to things like oil spills, floods, and forest fires. I think
there’ll be a big demand once we figure out how to book ahead.