Tired of lugging around your Kindle, Nook or other cumbersome e-reader? Feel embarrassed and out of date pulling out a bound volume?

Well Memorandum in Tandem is here to introduce the latest in literary technology.

Lil’ books

 

Lil’ Books allows you, the reader, to carry up to 5 books in your very pocket. With these hand made leather bound books, you will be able to read anywhere and have a whole encyclopedia at your finger tips. No need to charge or update these Lil’ Books, as they will always work, provided you have the proper reader glasses of 100x magnification. No more tapping on a screen and eye fatigue from the harsh glow. Now your eye fatigue will simply come from reading actual text on a page so small, only 3 tiny bees can sit on it at once.

Order yours now for $500 + shipping and handling from MemoinTando@gmail.com

Glasses, hand and bees not included.

After over a decade of tormenting this regular American suburb, police finally caught up with the Tin Can Killer.

Memorandum and Tandem is at the scene of his arrest.

Police say that Mr. X is a middle aged white man living alone. We have done some serious sleuthing and discovered that no one in the neighborhood was surprised to learn that Mr. X was actually the famous serial killer.

Old Gramma Jones, 103, reports exclusively to Memorandum in Tandem, “I used to see him sneaking around my garden at twilight. He would hide behind the bushes when I went onto the porch. And I was always pretty certain Mr. X was the one who decapitated my cat, Big Joe.”

Says Sally Simpson, 42, down the block, “Once he chased me down the street with a sledgehammer. He screamed that he was going to kill me. I don’t know why I never called the cops.”

“Every couple of weeks he would dig a rectangular hole in the backyard, usually about six by three feet,” notes Allen Davis, 33, a door to door salesman in the area. “Once he actually came to the door when I rang and I heard a struggle before he opened it. I am not even remotely surprised that he has been killing people for years.”

 

Local woman, Beth Harrow, 46, has always been of the mind, ‘don’t believe everything you read,’ until now. After discovering an article entitled, “The 6th Extinction: Are We Next?” Harrow began saying her goodbyes and getting her affairs in order. “Well if I’m on the way out, I just want to make sure I tell my parents how much I love them. Life was pretty cool.” Harrow has decided to stay at home until the extinction takes place. “It could be any day now, so I’m just gonna get comfy and wait. I’ve already closed out all my banks accounts, cashed in my retirement and bought one of those sleep number beds.” Harrow now spends her days with the radio and television on at all times, “I know that one of these days, they will sound the alarm and say, ‘it’s happening’ and I don’t want to miss it.” When asked if she misses her life outside of her home she said “Some days I stand at the window and watch kids playing outside in the neighborhood and I just feel bad for them – obviously their parents are just keeping this horrible news from them. They will probably be the first to go.”

One lonely evening I found myself watching “Hercules” starring Kellan Lutz. The incredibly poor writing and acting prevented me from completing the entire movie but I did manage to live haiku the first 50 minutes. The following is the result.

Can a spray-on tan

Ever seem remotely like

A real complexion?

 

Why do they still make

CGI action movies

So unbelievable?

 

Kellan Lutz has

lips paler than the rest of

his skin and blonde hair

 

A killer pout is

is a decent asset but

it’s never enough

 

Different accents

make it unlikely any

one is ancient greek

 

Did the Egyptians

At Heliopolis wear

rodent shaped armour

 

Movies should only

Get a specific amount

Of slow-motion time

 

If you’re a starving

Slave, how do you retain such

Defined arms and pecs?

 

Do lovers see the

same moon at the same time in

different time zones?

 

In Sicily there

was a fight. Half-face and his

ugly friend will lose.

 

I called it. Half-face

is down, eaten by lions.

Humbaba is next.

 

Back to Greece I guess.

This plot could not be worse if

I wrote it myself.

 

Did you have to wear

white to attend the games? Was

dye not invented?

 

Did Hercules just

kill a man in a loincloth,

with a turkey leg?

 

Down with Pussy and up with Vagina: A Return to lingua

Recent studies suggest that the word “vagina” is in fact a linguistic anomaly, one that the human mouth is incapable of uttering. It seems both men and women alike are suffering from an inability to form the shapes and produce the sounds necessary to articulate this word.

Dr. Alfred Irvingson of Manna University reports that ” something occurs deep within the ‘vag’ and ‘ina,’ creating a vacuum.  The speaker is rendered silent and forced to search for a word the mouth can actually fit around. The result is similar to a stutter. Many find  the word ‘pussy’ has a more readily accessible feeling in the mouth.  This inability to say the word ‘vagina’ is both a physiological and psychological affliction. My colleagues and I are currently looking into it, deeply. We are researching available treatments in the hopes of bringing the majority of people up to speed with the proper latin vernacular.”

We went to the public to see how people were coping with this terrible loss of lingua. A local high school girl, said she’s never heard of the word “vagina.” When asked to read the word off a card, she looked at it and said, “is that in Canada?…I dunno how to pronounce that.” We then interviewed a housewife, who said in horror, “my mother used to say that word…I wasn’t quite sure if I could…it seemed to take a lot of willpower, and it always embarrassed me.” When asked if she knew what a “pussy” was she responded, “Oh yea! That’s what my husband calls my [expletive]”

It appears that until we find a cure for this devastating disorder, we will look to those in the medical profession to say the word for us. Studies have found that those with M.D’s have a preternatural ability to utter the word “vagina” without experiencing any sort of pain or psychological damage.

Something strange happened to me today when I got home from work. 

I came into the house and took my shoes off. I lugged myself upstairs. Before I had a chance to throw myself on the bed and pass out I noticed a grey sludge pooling out from under the boxspring.

My immediate thought was that one of my cats had a terrible bowel movement. I inched closer to get a better look. “O my God!,” I shouted. “That’s not cat diarrhea! That’s GEMMA’S BRAIN!”

Gemma’s brain, in its adventurous escape from her skull, somehow made it’s way across the country and into my bedroom. I quickly scraped the brain into a dustpan and then a glass jar before any of the kitties could get to it. 

I set the jar up on a bookshelf and got into bed to sleep a dreamless sleep.

 

I woke up this morning to an unusual feeling. My head felt completely empty.

As I turned over the lip of my bed, I noticed a strange glob of grey goop on the floor.

My pillow was wet. There was what appeared to be a snail trail from my pillow to the floor.

I lifted my hand to my head, and felt a lightness, a hollowness that had not been there.

I immediately worried how I was going to be able to go to work without my brain intact. But then I remembered that I didn’t frequently use my brain at work and would probably be okay.

It then occurred to me that I was still somehow able to have these thoughts and worries, all the while my brain sat soaking into my beautiful pastel carpet.

I arose, careful not to step in the goop, for fear of permanent damage to most valuable thing I posses.

Walking with no brain was something to get used to, as it seemed aimless and lacking any balance.

I went into the kitchen to find a spatula and a zip-lock bag. I discovered I was unfortunately out of zip lock bags – as I remembered I had stopped buying them in an effort to rid my life of plastic and do my part to save the environment. But now I really needed one.

I got the spatula and found some tin foil.

I walked back over to my carpet, where my brain sat looking sad and defeated.

“Why did you try to escape?” I asked my brain.

There was no response.

“Am I not exciting enough for you?” I asked.

A bubble in the goop rose from somewhere deep in my brain to the surface and popped.

I took that as a yes. I sat for awhile with my brain – unaware that I was getting increasingly late for work.

Hours went by as I sat staring at my brain.

“I see what you mean” I told my brain.

I finally scooped up my brain and put it in a large piece of tin foil.

“I’ll have to sort this out after work” I told my brain.

I got up off the floor, put my brain in my purse, grabbed my keys and left for work.

Like all women– frivolous creatures that we are– Diamond and Gem cannot help but obsess over one thing at the start of every new season: the “It” bag. What will it be? Who will be seen with it? Everyone knows that a gal’s carrier shapes her identity for any given period (pun intended) of time. Portable storage for mysterious feminine products and ubiquitous hysteria suppressants is a must for any hip lady.

Fair sex, release your breath. Look no further. The official Memorandum in Tandem selection for Bag of Spring 2014 is…

 

 

 

 

 

The RETICULE

Long a reliable staple for any self-respecting medieval woman, the reticule is “rety” for the twenty-first century. Part purse, part winter hat, part cod-piece, this embroidery bomb is perfect for carrying spin class sweatbands, Starbucks rewards cards, designer cuticle cream, and even a small glass-bottled chia pudding for an afternoon snack.

If you need your bag to scream “I know what’s in and Eleanor of Aquitaine bought one too!” then this is the bag for you.

Browse our full selection in the Memo in Tando Spring Catolog. Email memointando@gmail.com for more info.

I don’t understand, why not chief commander? Is the commander inside of the chief? And if so, who is the chief? Is there more than one?

Are these the same guys we stole all this land from? He’s probably not happy about our president being inside him.

Or are there a bunch of chiefs, and to succeed you have to find one and get inside him?

Is it the same chief the editors are in?

How can I get inside a chief?

Is there any room left?