The Rug Weekly

America’s Only Paper That Knows When to Duck

End of March, 1950 (or Whenever the Typewriter Sobers Up)
                                                                                Price: One Dollar or One Secret.                                                                                 

The "I Didn't See Nothin'" Invitational

Police Hear Rumours of an Underground… Something
By Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski
Filed Somewhere Between : Allegations, Fabrications, and Totally Hypothetical Situations.

Look, I’m a peaceful man. I like my bowling, I like my music, and I like my rug. But word’s getting around the lanes and it’s not the good kind of word. There’s some kind of amateur hour scrap going on in the South Side. A bunch of guys running around in masks like they’re in a cheap matinee. One guy was wearing a mask called ‘GetJazzedOn.’ I mean, come on. Have a little self respect for the craft, you know?

The cops are sniffing around using big words like "syndicate." Then a body turns up, and get this: there’s a dry cleaning tag in the coat that says "Jeffery_Lebowski." Not even spelled right. If you’re gonna run a secret death match, maybe don't use the labels from your laundry as evidence. It’s just lazy.

The Dude abides. Just don’t tie me to any of this, alright?

THE GLITTER BANDIT

Phantom Pickpocketer Leaves a Trail of Panic… and Sparkle
Reported By "A Concerned Citizen" 
Filed Somewhere Between : a Missing Wallet and a Fabulous Crime Scene. 

We’ve got a real "performance art" situation with the local pickpockets. Most guys take your wallet and they're gone, ghosts. But this new character? He leaves a trail. I’ve seen some pretty tough customers, guys who look like they eat nails for breakfast, standing in the alleyway screaming because they just got hit with a face full of sparkles.

It’s embarrassing. Total loss of composure. And all the cops find is... glitter. I don't know if he’s making a statement or if he just spent too much time at a craft store, but it’s a mess. Hard to get out of the corduroy, too. If you feel a light touch on your hip, do us all a favor: check your pockets, but keep the high notes to yourself. It’s a bad look for the neighborhood.

THAT WHOLE MATT BUSINESS

A New Voice Picks Up an Old Tune
By Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski
 Filed Under: Tradition, Tribute Acts, and Unrequested Opinions.

You ever notice how when one loudmouth finally stops talking, another one just... steps right into the spot? TonyTheTailor is gone, and now we’ve got @SteveHarrington stepping up to the mic. Steve seems like a relaxed enough guy, probably likes a good beverage, but man, he cannot stop talking about @Matt.

I heard him the other day saying something like, "I like Matt, but if you guys hate him, I’m in." That’s some serious non committal commitment right there. He calls himself an "unwilling participant" while he’s literally holding the map. It’s a lot of energy, man. I don't follow the logic; I’m just trying to keep my beverage level, you know?

THE COURT OF SAINTS

Order Restored… or at Least Attempted.
By Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski
 Filed Under: Economic Stimulus, Good Intentions, and New Chairs.

Things have been real lean, man. I've spent way too much time looking at the water spots on my ceiling and worrying about the rent. It was getting weird out there, real 'Lord of the Flies' stuff, you know?

So, @Sam_Hail starts this 'Saints' thing in the South Side. And look, usually nothing around here makes sense, but this actually kind of does. It’s... it's a place to go. Keeps you out of your own head for a while. They’ve got jobs and people actually doing stuff. It’s not like the world's changing or anything, but seeing someone try to tidy up the mess is alright with me. Just... don't mess with their folders. They’re real weird about the paperwork over there.

THE TAUPE WATCH

A Recurring Observation
By Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski
Filed Under: Colours, Ghosts & Questionable Taste.

I’m gonna be brief because this whole "is he or isn’t he" thing is cutting into my practice time. Everyone’s talking about Taupe. "Is he back?" "Did you see the beige coat?" Man, the guy’s under six feet of dirt. Or he’s supposed to be. But I’m at the bar, minding my own business, and some guy starts twitching because the wallpaper "looked at him funny."

He says the air felt; and I’m quoting here, "aggressively bland."

Now, I’ve had some bad trips, but being haunted by a mid-range neutral tone? That’s a new one. I went by that spot with the heavy curtains just to shut everyone up, and yeah, it was quiet. Too quiet. Like the color had been sucked out of the room. If this guy is actually haunting the South Side, he’s doing it to lower the property value. If you see a mist that looks like unflavored oatmeal, don’t call the cops. Call a decorator. Or just go home and do what I do: put on some Creedence and wait for the room to stop feeling so tan.

It’s a real drag, man.

THE FINAL WORD

Look, it’s a lot of strands to keep in my head, man. Between the basement brawlers in laundry bags, the glitter-bomb pickpockets, and a ghost who’s apparently haunting us with the colour of unflavored oatmeal, it’s a lot of energy.

If you see Steve, tell him to take a beat. If you see Sam, watch your drink near his desk. And if you see a body with my name on the tag, do me a favor and call the cleaner, the real one, not the guy in the mask.

I’m headed to the lanes. Stay safe, keep your wallets tight, and try to keep the screaming to a minimum. It’s a bad vibration for the neighborhood.

The Dude abides. I mean, what’s the alternative?