For her birthday I made the world’s saddest lemon meringue pie, because it’s the thought that counts.
[Director’s Cut: For her birthday I made the world’s saddest lemon meringue pie, because it’s the thought that counts and I thought that if I screwed up the first pie she would do the baking for the rest of our married life.]
If I’d known IE would turn my site into such a loose-bordered slut, I would never have let it leave the house.
I have not been able to eat lobster since I found out that they’re spiders with a thyroid condition.
From his resting place on the floor of his office, Edward’s eyes roamed blankly over the clutter of plaques on the wall, signifying his accomplishments over the years in the eyes of outsiders; he dimly realized he had failed to move on while he still could, and now the plaques were little more than sound bafflers, muffling the noise of his soul being trampled by the culture of futility.
I sure hope my daughter meant “dye,” we were talking about my grey hair, after all.
She regretted having agreed to something stupid in the spirit of cooperation, but it had become a trend in her life that was not easily shaken.
Once Little Jimmy had learned that “tithing” meant one-tenth of something, it was a lot easier to understand why everyone in the Last Hope Salvation congregation went white as ghosts when the Reverend Jacob started pounding his fist on the pulpit and talking about twithing, and why Old Lady MacMillian collapsed when the reverend stopped pounding, grew quiet, and then whispered, “And maybe even thrithing”; but he didn’t understand why fithing wasn’t a word; didn’t it mean fifty percent of something?; and did they have to stare at him so hard just because he stood up and said the word, which he still thought was a word, and they just weren’t admitting it; he couldn’t help Old Lady MacMillian was passed out cold on the floor, besides, no one else seemed to have even noticed, except for maybe that little perve Bobby Jenkins just down the pew from her, who was craning his neck back and forth around his mom, doing his best to try and see up her skirt, which if you thought about it, seemed a whole lot worse then a stupid question about fithing.
Is there a saint who can chase the flying cockroaches out of Astoria, Queens, much as Saint Patrick chased the snakes out of Ireland?
I don’t always think that “people” are the opposite of “nature,” though shaking hands with certain individuals, like Dick Cheney, for instance, might just be about as distant as you can get without jumping directly into a vat of sludge.
A good roll of duct tape can temporarily silence literally hundreds of children, yet oddly enough, totally immobilize only a dozen or so.
Bobby judged all his friends by their height, although he refused to say if it was shortest to tallest, or tallest to shortest.
If it were just dirt, it would be so much easier.
As annoying as it is generally understood to be when people take cell phone calls in public, it’s even worse to carry your own cell phone all day, every day, and never have it ring for you once.
In the year 2005, this modern God had foresaken hair shirts and mortification of the flesh, instead assigning ever more creatively torturous tasks to his followers, the latest of which was a 7:10pm airline flight on the Friday before Memorial Day.
Men don’t talk much about love, unless you mean their love of pie; if a man loves pie, there’s no shutting him up.
There are few things as satisfying in life as watching three children with croquet mallets making divots in the surface of the backyard.
When one is fatigued all the time, it creates the perfect ongoing excuse to oneself for procrastination and underachievement; small wonder then that, though he had run out of deadlines or commitments to meet, Dwight continued to stay up well past two o’clock every night.
It ain’t over ‘til the fat guy signs.
They were cruising up Highway 1, just outside of Half-Moon Bay in a brand new black Mustang with the top down, wind in their hair, little gusts creeping into the car and greedily lifting the edge of her frilly miniskirt, the sun setting over the Pacific as the car gracefully navigated the curves and as his strong hand gently navigated the curve of her thigh.
For an extra challenge, make sure the contact lens you drop down the drain is the second one you put in, so that as you try to fish it from the lip of the pipe your vision won’t just be blurry but without depth perception, too.
It’s not the size of the bricks I’m shitting, so much as their edges and corners that I worry about.
Just once, I’d like the earth to give a good strong jerk, kind of like if God’s foot slipped off the clutch while he was shifting gears, so that I can watch all the people fall down at the same time.
I know for sure that I’m a pantheist, but I’m still trying to figure out if all these home appliances have individual demons inside them as well.
Of course I like the idea of boobies as mouse pillows, but this just freaks me out.
Social interaction is the time-devouring career that the hermit chooses to resign from each and every day of his existence.
If you dropped from a great height all of the pickles that have existed throughout history, you can be sure someone would get hurt.
“Tonight,” whispered Gimcrack seductively into Ms. Whatsit’s ear, “we fandangle.”
“For months, the people gave thanks for Global Warming, and thus the New Religion was born, its icon a writhing golden alligator pierced with a turquoise lightning bolt.”
Fatherhood, husbandhood, my job, drinking, not drinking, dieting, paying taxes, answering the phone, trying to save money, reading the news, maintaining an illusion of caring, showering, driving under the speed limit, sleeping at night, all of it, I quit.
Much to Thingamajig and Thingamabob’s dismay, their second cousin, Dohickey, became such a talk of the town that a kissing move was eventually named after one of her shameful exploits.
This morning I was wondering if people still called people hayseeds, which made me think that this Industrial Revolution thingamajig might just be working out, which led me to a thesaurus, which revealed quite a long list of various words (in case thingamajig didn’t work out for me):
accoutrment, appliance, black box, bugger, contraption, device, dingbat, dohickey, dojiggy, doodad, fandangle, furnishings, gaff, gear, gimcrack, gizmo, grabber, habilments, idiot box, implement, jigger, machine, machinery, means, mechanism, outfit, paraphernalia, provisions, set-up, stuff, sucker, supplies, tackle, thingamajigger (of course), tools, utensils, whatchamacallit, whatsis, whosis, widget.
As I materialize and consciousness returns, I find a computer in front of me, files piled on the desk and floor and coffee gurgling responsibly into the pot—I guess it is my lot to work this day.
I have to admit that the wingus still doesn’t fit in the dooflodgie, though it looks deceptively like if I forced it, the whole thing would whang together as it should.
I made my first mortgage payment just now, and it was a surreal jumble of numbers, which is lucky, because if I had to pay in chickens or stacks of pennies, it would be a lot harder to clean up afterwards.
Do not proposition a woman on her wedding day; her schedule will be too jumbled and you will just draw undue attention to yourself.
Thingamajig’s older cousin, Thingamabob, went on to make a name for himself (as it were) in the upper Great Lakes region, appearing in Fourth of July parades as that knobby item adorning the top of the color guard’s flagpoles.
Struggling and cursing, I am driven mad by green and purple diddlebugs.
Theodore sometimes found himself confusing intravertebral autonomy with the more primitive form of losing his tail, intervertebral autonomy, making him the butt of nearly every joke in the lizard tank.
I’m renaming my novel “Jack Shit” because, as I’ve said before, that’s what I’m getting done.
I have nothing more to say but I can’t linger longer on my current number of posts; this oughta do it.
I am the least litigious of persons but nonetheless it seems that I am forced to file a claim against my Hostile Workplace.
The computer’s adoration for Jared turned downright unsavory when it pretended to acquire all kinds of viruses, spyware, and illicit freeware downloads, in a desperate bid for his attention.
I asked her, if Atlantis was going to rise in the Caribbean to such an extent that it would cause California to fall into the sea, what did she think would happen to Florida, wouldn’t it become perpendicular?
Although everyone in town knew Lester McCallister was sharp as a whip, they never suspected he’d go on to become the reigning Redneck Jeopardy champion, although Lester’s father, Lester Sr., would often tell them that the incident with the cow should have tipped them off.
My current mood is entirely due to my recalcitrant children, whose behavior has nothing whatsoever to do with my mothering skills.
As Bob sat staring blankly at the computer screen a gnawing anxiety began to grow, what if comments had been turned off on his favorite website because its owner had decided that Bob was a babbling idiot who wasn’t adding anything to the conversation, and was there a conversation, or was Bob just a babbling idiot who had been fooling himself all along?
I’d blame these wild mood swings—or should we call them swoops, since they’re mostly down—on pms or peri-menopause, except for the little problem that I’m male, so I guess at some point I’ll just have to admit that I’m simply becoming a crotchity, grumpy, moody, unlikable old bastard with no excuse for my behavior.
“You’re in the wrong line,” said Janet in an annoyed tone to Bob, who was craning his neck to see around her bouffant.
“No, son,” said the father, “I won’t make you wash the dishes, but I will let the giant bugs eat you if they don’t get done.”
Occasionally, some poor Robert will slip over the edge and end up a Bert instead of a Bob; few other names contain the potential for such tragedy.
The smell of barbecue has always been a turn-off, thought Bob, dreaming wistfully of a cool, ripe tomato and avocado salad.
It appeared as though Bob should probably have chosen the cheeseburgers.
He’d always imagined that the afterlife contained no second-guessing, but now that he’d begun moving, Bob wasn’t so sure; afterall, if he’d held still, he’d be going to Hell with a fireman as a friend, which sounds helpful no matter how you slice it.
One by one, Bob moved slowly back down the line; if his plan worked he’d be free, but if it didn’t there’d be hell to pay.
Bob’s plan was simple - introduce the person behind him to the person in front, hope they struck up a friendship, then offer to trade places so they could talk, allowing him to ever so slowly back his way out of the line leading into Hell.
Waiting in line to enter Hell, Bob amused himself with the irony of the insurance industry; he also met two nice people - Janet, a mother of three, and Steven, a fireman from Omaha.
Bob was surprised to learn that entering Heaven was as easy as knowing the correct time, and even more surprised when he looked down and discovered that he’d been buried without his watch.
With enlightenment seemingly out of reach, Bob decided his choices boiled down to either fierce determination or cheeseburgers for lunch.
No, this is not a sentence about Keith’s struggle to keep his manhood from banging the porcelain, it is about my musing the other day that I’d be proud if my daughter grew up to be a heavy equipment operator instead of a lawyer like her old man.
Sally knew it was trite, but some days she couldn’t get beyond the single thought that rattled around in her nearly empty head and became her personal mantra, “gravity sucks”
Sometimes it seems like being a homeowner is a lot like having a huge blanket fort and a flashlight.
Only 15 percent of California residents say they know a lot about the state and local budget process, yet 68% say the public has an obligation to fix the budget through ballot measures; this is a little like someone visiting an art gallery, declaring “I don’t know art but I know what I like,” and then setting fire to all the pictures … come to think of it, they do that, too.
Twilight is the best time to understand dogs.
Sometimes when I’m sitting on the toilet, contemplating man’s nature (keeping my parts from bumping up against the inner lip of the toilet seat), I realize that I understand very little about women, the extent of my knowledge being that they sometimes grow mustaches.
I have written nine double-spaced pages about the California budget crisis so far, and not one sentence is good enough to post on Scrine - except maybe the part where I playfully suggest we force our governor to read the book Catch-22.
The appropriationist finally succeeds in her intention, appropriately in an entirely unintentional way, when she discovers that her own blog appears visually radically different on each of the four computers on which she views it; she smiles.
Why is it when there’s a screwup in software it’s broadcast across the galaxy but when the patch is devised it’s buried below the fold; is it just that we should be kept in perpetually disabled mode for as long as possible or is there some more nefarious marketing device at work?
If it is a crime to take 15 minutes of time for myself to drink a cup of coffee and read Scrine, then I am a criminal.
I fear to blow the whistle for then I would be a whistleblower, and apparently it is my position to be merely disemployed; I am not qualified to say he is wrong, but I do say our ethics do not mesh.
There is nothing so comforting as rice pudding.
I sit without my glasses in the wireless tavern at the U, veggie chilli working its way into the trackpad; “hey, no goin’ on pron sites here!” the barmaid teases.
If you wish for everything and it comes true, keep in mind that you can always sell it at a garage sale later for an easy three or four hundred bucks!
Earlier today I distilled the very essence of life into one single glorious sentence to share with Scrine, but I was driving and had no paper and no pen and no ‘net access; if only we had a voice recognition, cellphone-based posting system, we would never experience the tragedy of a lost sentence.
The other shoe, when it finally dropped, sounded less like a thump and more like a sigh.
If an iMac crashes in the middle of the night and no one is around to witness it, will it ever boot up again?
I’ve been holding my breath for about 18 years.
One of my office manager’s coffee cups delivers the following advice: “If it rings, put it on hold; if it clanks, call the repairman; if it whistles, ignore it; if it’s a friend, take a break; if it’s a boss, look busy; if it talks, take notes; if it’s handwritten, type it; if it’s typed, copy it; if it’s copied, file it; if it’s Friday, forget it,” her other cup simply inspires with the words, “My lawyer can beat up your lawyer.”
You see how close we are, after all, to the Chasm.
Suddenly, a browser disability hurls me back into an earlier time and I try to read the signs like some Rip Van WInkle in reverse.
Perpetual worry went so well with everything in Julie’s closet, scarves and earrings made her feel overdressed.
You swear by snoballs, the next person by ho-hos, some by cupcakes and others by twinkies, but me, I need the entire quadrumvirate of evil to cure what ails me.
Give me a handful of details and I’ll entertain myself for hours at a time.
Honky-tonk music at loud volume and four cups of coffee may not meet the government’s nutritional guidelines, but it sure hit the spot today.
Children’s programming makes me doubt my own commitment to parenting.
In the face of overwhelming odds, remember this my friends - the outcome of every battle was decided long before the first heated word was cast or the glimmer of the first-drawn blade shined down upon your enemy; fate waits for every man at the end of the day, you and me alike, so rush towards him with a glad heart and embrace, because here, in this place of death, he alone will be your own true friend; remember, it is kings who march us into battle, but fate who marches us out, every single one of us, both the living and the dead.
A true mentor is one of those people who can only be realized as such years after success occurs; I now run away from anybody who tells me she wishes to be my mentor at the onset of our working relationship, because whether she’s aware of it or not, the seemingly generous offer is just a euphamism for ‘you’ll do my shit work and treat me like a queen.’
Time may be artificial and arbitrary and a generally bad idea, but once a week it nearly redeems itself by declaring Friday.
I may have fallen from the list of Ten Good Scriners, but does that make me a bad one?
Final and ultimate proof of the ineffectualness of his whole life - even his future years - was driven home to Xar when he traveled back to the 21st century, yet the Time Police made no move to arrest him and prevent him from tampering with events.
I’ve never actually tried to herd cats, but I’m pretty certain that herding the paperwork in my office is by far the more difficult task.
Do I need to take responsibility for all of that part of the world as well?
If I’d known IE would turn my site into such a loose-bordered slut, I would never have let it leave the house.
Time was, if a young man walked me all the way from class to my car, in the spring rain, and he gradually shifted the conversation from the course of study to the way I make him feel slightly off-balance and mystified, that young man was looking for a kiss - and he’d usually get one.
I’ll give her 24 hours to write me back and tell me not to worry, and then … I’ll probably keep worrying anyway, but at least I’ll be a worrier on a schedule.
I’ve been voluntarily unemployed for two weeks now…why does the fact that I’m not panicking make me feel like I should panic?
There are several signs your pilot is high on that new plane smell, including winding the smooth new engines up for an extra-steep ascent, showing off with a tighter than usual corkscrew out of San Jose and blatant, unembarrassed skimming of the top of the cloud-line.
I’d rather be me than my laptop, because even though we’re both sick without insurance, at least I didn’t have to be returned to the factory for disassembly.
When the creditors started calling, Stuart simply told them that negative 50,000 was the new zero; “I think it’s some new-fangled government math,” he’d say, “and according to my figures, we’re flush.”
No one seems to question the fleeting nature of a perfect haircut, yet will weigh themselves religiously every morning, bringing up the question - why doesn’t anyone measure their hair?
For the clinically depressed, the term Dress For Success means simply: anything more then just underwear.
Copyright worldbook.com, presumably.*
*the one on the left
They say that the normal teenage male averages one thought about sex every 17 seconds; I know I’m getting old because sometimes I go 45 seconds or even a minute between such thoughts.
I am continuously drawn to the light.
In idle moments, Bill wondered what his name had to do with an invoice, or the front end of a duck and what it might mean in other languages.
Sometimes I conclude that it’s all perfect the way it is.
You’d think that little boys would tire of arguing about locks on bedroom doors, but if you did, you’d of course be wrong.
The balder I become, the less wind irritates me.
The orchestral composition, a memorial to 9/11, started quite tempestuously, but ended with a musical prayer for mercy and salvation; puzzled by her own ambivalance over the piece, she realized she was not yet ready to forgive God for that day.
Sure it’s nice outside, but what’s that have to do with computers?
They say that the dust in our homes is mostly our own skin, which makes me wonder - just how thick would we all get, if our dry, dead skin suddenly stopped falling off?