Guns are legal because of asshats with CAR ALARMS!
That kid was not that good at playing piano, though he did play with a great deal of confidence; but just because he was a kid, it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“You are mistaken in seeing all these qualities as symptoms of some other disturbance,” he proudly corrected me on the subway back from Coney Island, “I AM the disturbance in your life.
Gadget envy is the 21st century’s penis envy, updated for a new economy.
There once was a man who loved Slurpies Alone with his many superfluities, He met a woman one day While he was waiting to pay But she left when he mentioned his herpes.
Four days later, while reading a newspaper account of a mysterious local housefire, an insurance agent said to himself, “Wait a minute…”
As much as Trevor wanted everyone else to believe that aliens were responsible, deep down he suspected he had been drunk the evening before and set his own cornfield on fire.
Bob thought, “I need a nap,” as he rolled out of bed in the morning.
Bob slowly went broke in the face of beauty.
Her head exploded swiftly, leaving a lacy pattern of blood and brain tissue all over her desk, which would not have happened from a slow leak.
My last words will be something like “Oh FUCK” or “SHIT GODDAMN!” which will make it more embarrassing for my children to remember if they survive the crash.
Steve was in the middle of composing a truly magnificent sentence, when all of a sudden
Back in the day, I qualified for provisional geek status, but these last ten years, I’ve been slipping… until today when I received the tools (toys) to properly connect my stereo to my wireless network— ooooooohhhhhh, that’s the sound of my inner geek glorying in 14,768 songs cued up on random play—look, Ma, no wires!
She wanted to name the baby Edgar, after her grandfather on her mother’s side, in spite of my arguments to call the flailing little creature Thinking Man’s Lobotomy, which I thought had a nice sounding ring to it.
I am in New Orleans and I realized on the drive over that what I’m really doing is trying it on for relocation purposes, how would I ever be able to do that, do I want to, I sure want to go somewhere, it’s either NO or Miami, after all, and it’s all ‘mouse’s fault; thanks, ‘m, and I’m taking orders if anybody wants something sent: a bead, a broad, or a beignet—the funky guesthouse has Wifi!.
The excuse “I don’t know the answer; I’ve only been here x months” should be forbidden when x>2.
Few things should be more frightening than a sentient household appliance, and oddly enough I find myself, at this moment, watching my children defeat a wayward dryer in a PS2 game, though none of us seems extremely frightened, I must say.
I had a piece of rhubarb pie at my aunt’s house, and I’ll be dammed if I enjoyed it one bit.
Today’s assignment is to reconcile your relationship with your own mother in a single, sparkling sentence with plentiful adverbs.
I told Jim he could only get Carl Sagan videos at the bodega, because they cut PBS funding.
I don’t care how well that new industrial hallway carpet with the black, orange, brown and grey pattern hides stains—it’s a fucking atrocity and it gives me a splitting headache
So, my personal history, my lifelong dream, and a decent size reflection of myself walk into this bar, and the bartender says, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” to which the three reply, “That’s what we were thinking.”
I’ve noticed most of the things I really enjoy are equally absurd.
coffee, aspirin, Rolaids—oh shit, I have become my father.
Last Thursday I met a man who had no indoor toilet, and when asked about the nearby water works project, was prone to say, “Let the little bastards drown.”
That kid was not that good at playing piano, though he did play with a great deal of confidence; but just because he was a kid, it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Wouldn’t it be cool if ontogeny really did recapitulate phylogeny?
“I really should have stopped after rocks,” God reminisced one day from the comfort of his hammock, “because if you ask me, the rest of it ended up a bit on the soft side.”
My capacity for messing around and getting absolutely nothing done should be studied for posterity.
If I was allowed to write two sentences, I’d tell you something really, really important.
Just like Pauly Shore and his new television show, Keith is back, and this time, he means business.
You have six (6) months during which to completely rechart your life (again) so how will you begin: you have a small house that you must maintain, stuffed with junk and various unfocussed talents that may or may not be of assistance, large credit card debt, and no other real ties—what will your life look like six months from today?
Scott could pinpoint the exact moment that his brain clicked off and he went from being intelligent and involved and ready to solve problems to being incapable of stringing two coherent thoughts together; it was 11:20 a.m.
My cats are also as vain as toast.
There’s a special brand of envious gaze which all the men in blue suits and red ties reserve for the single shorts- and sandals-clad fellow among them in line at the lunch counter, and it can’t be spotted anywhere else.
Timmy spent so long arguing that he wasn’t the one who allowed zombies into the house that in the end it didn’t much matter, because the whole family was eaten alive.
Important facts we all should know: In Chinese the fig is known as the “no flower fruit”; common figs develop parthenocarpically without pollination; the fruit is a syconium—an inverted flower of stem tissue surround both male and female parts; the seed-like things in figs are generally unfertilized ovaries that failed to develop; it is these unfertilized ovaries that provide the distinctive resinous flavor associated with figs.
While standing some 25 feet up on the ladder, ‘Mouse mused on the large gap in his horticultural knowledge which had become obvious about three years after buying a couple tiny little fig starts that look exactly like little grapevine starts and planting them along his back fence where he thought it would be nice to have a couple intertwined black and white fig vines.
This whole damn planet is made of rocks!
You know the goddess in charge is pleased with you when she blesses you with one perfect black fig, ripe-to-falling-off-the-tree and yet untouched by ants and birds.
Looking back, I sometimes wish I’d chosen Rewriting History as my major in college - I bet it pays pretty good.
If I didn’t have to sleep I could get all this stuff done.
The considerate yardworker digs even the most ordinary holes after nightfall, so that on those occasions when he isn’t burying a body his neighbors will still have something to talk about.
In the time it took me to bring the return shipping box into the house, open it, and pack my broken laptop inside, Checkers the dog was able to coat the box, the foam packing material, the sealing tape, and the shipping label with fur—all without waking up or getting off of the couch!
How the hell did that happen?
Walk around any small town for eight hours without a fear of asking questions, and you’ll learn a few things that even people who’ve lived there their whole life don’t know.
“Eak’s solo act displays his many tattoos, includes a lecture on diversity and stands three audience members on his chest as he lies sandwiched between two beds of nails.”
Lying in the grass, I would sometimes open my eyes, just to watch the clouds tumble across the blue Indiana afternoon sky.
A boring sentence is shorter than this.
Scott decided that since it was Friday afternoon and sunny out, it was the perfect time to begin testing his hypothesis that a beer and a nap in the shade beats working.
The label on the bum of my stuffed rabbit reads, “To prevent product migration do not wash by hand or machine.”
It is the relentless fine weather in California that permeates one’s psyche, the beautiful, paradisical warm days, one after another like an endless string of shining oysters stretching to the sandy beach’s horizon, each with a pearl; there are those times within memory when we found ourselves complaining because the breeze was a bit too stiff, or the rain clouds too low and thick, though they moved fast over the sky as if in apology for the necessity of the exercise; but in truth, one cannot blame one’s bad humor or mood swings on anything except oneself, for example, or bad parking, late sleeping, slovenly housewives or lazy children; which only goes to show that while there is much inside that can be found culpable, it’s so much easier to blame death or taxes or Republicans for the natural suffering that takes place in life, particularly when too many people occupy far too little space, or when one adheres to an outdated version of what was promised on that long-ago postcard with the coconut palm and the little hut and the orange groves stretching out over the earth fragrant and optimistic, and when one shows up to collect, finds only the blighted area just south of the Ontario airport where nothing ever grows and nothing ever will.
He liked to joke about how his frequent business trips should make his wife appreciate him more and, at least respect, if not actually fear, the threat of single parenthood, but then she left him with the kids for a week while she went on a trip with her parents and it wasn’t funny any more.
It was a fine day in Scrineland when Jennia tickled ‘mouse’s fancy with the idea of the “First Ever Scrine Directed Writing Challenge” which requires entrants to write a sentence of exactly 200 words, not including the headline—other quickly-fleshed-out rules included the decision that hyphenated words count as a single-word, the way MSWord counts ‘em, “a” counts as a word when used separately, spelling errors do not subtract from the word count, (tho they are frowned upon by all but Jo, who finds them rather manly), grammar and correct use of punctuation are expected to fall within reasonable norms, however minor misuse of semicolons may be overlooked based upon how the judges (not yet drafted) feel about the overall quality of the sentence; extra credit is given for use of unusual words, and drunken, Hemmingwayesqe multi-page sentences that make you groan when you turn to yet-another page that goes on and on without a paragraph break are okay, but only if written while verifiably drunk and, if at all possible, submitted either from Key West or written on the back of two plane tickets from Portland, OR to Key West drawn in name of our handsome host, Keith.
Sandra’s one guilty pleasure is that she devours the morning paper each day for the glow it gives her to know that in the last 24 hours she was not mangled in a gory car accident, downsized out of her job, exposed for using her work computer to solicit in gay chatrooms, involved in any way with Serbia or any part of Africa, or killed on a ride at Disneyland, just to name a few examples.
I was too busy for lunch, but for dinner I had a 20 oz. Hefeweizen just minutes before take-off.
Kids never change, they just get replaced by new kids.
Unfortunately the citizens of the land were disgusting, self-serving know-nothings with a taste for light beer in cans and television involving big trucks and loose women.
I inch towards peace, while the boy inches towards war; for instance, this morning he kicked me in the shin for waking him up late, and while I could have struck a decisive blow and settled the matter once and for all, I suggested a cease fire, then slowly guided his diplomat into the shower, hoping the hot water would help with our later negotiations.
Once upon a time, in a land, far far away, there was a peaceful kingdom nestled between a nourishing river and high, protective mountains.
It’s unrolling, all of it, third grade, Kindergarten, all the mothers wearing whistles and safety vests, everything!
I always thought becoming a full grown man would be fun, but after 44 years, it seems I’m still growing, and now I’ve started to think I’ll never make it on time.
every so often, so very seldom, something happens that makes me think there’s hope somewhere and the cancelation of African “debt” is one of those things; then I begin to think about who the true debtors are in this equasion, and that I am among them.
If they’d all just listen to me, things would go so much more smoothly.
Bob had many cats, and had taught all of them to walk around the house on their hind legs, which he thought made them look proper and sophisticated; it also irritated his one and only dog, who he had never liked very much.
“I touched you and now I smell like your fever.”
It’s such an average day, breathtakingly glittering and resplendent it its ordinariness.
“I order another beer to put that part of my mind to sleep.”
Bob was quick to tell people he’d walked across Montana three times, but always failed to mention that he’d walked the short side.
Fun with Dating Former Soviets
Crazy Russian: Well you know, we’ve been involved for a while and when that happens obviously things need some management.
Bunni: Uh, it sounds like a 401 k plan. I mean do I need to call an accountant?
Crazy Russian: I just don’t think you are living up to your full potential.
Bunni: Because if I was I’d already have a 401 k plan.
Tessa awoke with a start, experiencing the quick adrenalin surge of having no idea of where she was, how she got there and, for a moment, who she was.
“I work for free; I get paid to be afraid.”
If I spent any more time clicking around the internet, I’d have to give up Real Life altogether and become a circuit broad.
Some people are human only by trade.
When your 9 year old son beats you at golf, it might be time to choose a new hobby.
We apologize for the delay, please remain on the line and your call will be answered in the order received (x76).
I’m really tired this evening, and thinking nightmarish thoughts, like a passing fantasy about being buried alive, and one about enduring some kind of brutal war in this neighborhood, but probably the worst one is the thought that someday I’ll be senile and not able to conjugate verbs properly any more.
Sometimes a fart proves that gravity doesn’t always work right.
Don’t forget that at the end of every parade lives a comic little man, with his drawn-on smile and oversized broom, busily cleaning up the shit.
How long do you think it would be before they locked me away for not showering?
A rarther large part of my soul died today when I saw ahead of me an SUV with the bumper sticker, “Give War a Chance.”
Over on another board they use what they call a “Filth Filter”, which is just another example of the end of the world at hand, and I got bounced for recommending that someone buy yogurt jars with “screw-type lids,” which sent me into a frothy rage until I found that someone else got bleeped for recommencing “Pollock,” so now I am just confused: what am I missing here?
By the time I actually did spot a gigantic, gas-guzzling Humvee on the freeway sporting one of those insulting yellow “support our troops” magnetic ribbons, the moment had already paled beside my exquisite anticipation.
I’d run for office if all the incriminating evidence weren’t already plastered all over the internet.
A hot tub would be grand just about now.
If there was a law stating that everyone was required to be buried directly beneath the spot where they dropped over dead, I think people would tend to get out a little more; I also think nursing homes would try a lot harder, and that highway fatalities would drop, because of all the new speed bumps.
...but what if she doesn’t love it as much as I do?
How can it be that I despise the thought of mowing the lawn so much, yet when I am actually doing it, i find that I am enjoying myself…isn’t it supposed to be the other way around…the anticipation of an event far exceeding the actual experience?
“What kind of sensualist craves nothingness?”
[Sentence unabashedly lifted from Nick Hornby’s “How to Be Good.”)
It turns out that I have divergent tastes in light fixtures from my esteemed husband, and it hasn’t been much of a problem, though I’m almost always in charge of every single other thing in the house, including that intense locus of power and phallic energy, the remote.
well, I have a cold and I feel sorry for myself, so I ordered and paid (double) online a hawaiian barbecue chicken pizza delivery that will be here in 45 minutes; since I think this is just about the end of civilization anyway, don’t you imagine there should be some way I don’t have to get out of bed to answer the door?
A summer cold is a nasty animal.
Last weekend, my wife suddenly announces, “I love buying bananas, but I have absolutely no interest in eating them.”
Nestling saucepans were once the galactic defenders of freedom, maintaining a sense of order, until the rise of the evil Dutch Oven and its minions (the crepe pan, the double-boiler, and assorted one-gadget fighting planes); now, only one man has what it takes to defeat the scourge of the universe and bring peace – but not quiet – back to the kitchen floor.
Remember to drive very carefully in the parking lot of the sleep disorders clinic.
Avoiding social gatherings is easy, once you’ve mastered either of Hermit Joe’s patented techniques - the simple, yet effective fake stomach ache, or his trademark move, known around hermit circles as “Diarrhea On Demand.”
Back in college, Joe hosted a local cable show called Serious Slamdown, which basically boiled down to him and his friends getting drunk in front of a camera while pitting various societal groups against one another that seemed to take themselves too seriously; when the show ended in 1979, the last episode, entitled God’s Children - Mankind’s Precious Little Stepstools (clips of which were later used to launch the successful Jerry Springer show), had the Catholic Church vigorously defending their title against a small group of local, power-hungry PTA moms.
“It’s one thing to be a rat alone on a sinking ship; it’s another thing entirely when you have a companion rat on the ship with you, and you don’t want him to drown.”
Within a few hours, my coworkers will learn the hard way I went through a garlic jag this weekend, that only a batch of my hummus could cure.
Whatever is the opposite of intense irritation; I remember that pole.
Please translate the following sentence into an appropriate string of early 19th century curse words: Keith went golfing.
Raising children is just like robbing banks - both have their rewards, but if you’re caught doing either, expect a commitment of twenty years to life.
McKeith mcwent mcgolfing
I’m so glad I don’t have to concentrate to keep my arms connected, because sometimes I can imagine that they might just fly off.
To the search engine user who visited my blog to look for words that rhyme with “muscle”: tussle, rustle, Russell, bustle, and if you’re feeling poetically courageous, wrestle.
If Bayer can make aspirin with caffiene, how come Starbucks can’t make coffee with aspirin?
I think blue is my favorite color right now.
All evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, Beverly felt confident that the father of the modern-day office cubicle was not certifiably sadistic, but merely misguided; had he the inclination to visit a typical workplace to survey the fruits of his brainchild, she thought, she would happily share an afternoon with him, hunkered down inside the aquamarine fabric walls, unwilling audience to phone conversations so jarring and loud they could only logically originate from war zones.
As he poured another drink, Joe thought, my liver is a muscle, so the more I use it and the harder I push it, the stronger it will get.
I’m never sure just when flying cockroach season comes, until it has and we’re here.
Here’s what I don’t get about the unadjudicated internet photo meme offers that seem to come thick and fast to the unwary blogger’s in-basket: why aren’t people more concerned that the photos they submit may be stolen for use in, oh I don’t know, some Korean breakfast drink ad?
Given the threadbare state of my underwear, it’s a mere fluke of the universe that my car didn’t go right off the cliff this morning.
As the vice tightened down on his temples, his last coherant thought was, “This is far worse than I’d ever imagined.”
I found Hermit Joe’s self-published book, Linguistics - Evolution’s Wrong Turn, to be an interesting and rivoting read, and was especially intrigued with his concept that the development of spoken language led to the demise of all basic, human instincts; I did, however, find the chapter on government-enforced tongue removal to be a bit over the top, if not distasteful, no pun intended.
If there was a place where I could go and have selected memories deleted…I’d go in a flash.
All baritone leads should keep in mind that no lease is too inconvenient to break at a moment’s notice, if there is a posse of vengeful sopranos and tenors on your tail.
Sometimes a simple Scriner like myself finds that only the words of a true master will do: I went up there, I said, “Shrink, I want to kill, I mean, I wanna, I wanna kill, kill, I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore and guts and veins in my teeth, eat dead burnt bodies, I mean kill, Kill, KILL, KILL,” and I started jumpin up and down yelling, “KILL, KILL,” and he started jumpin up and down with me and we was both jumping up and down yelling, “KILL, KILL,” and the sergeant came over, pinned a medal on me, sent me down the hall, said, “You’re our boy.”
If my grandpa’s nickname was “Deep Throat” I think I’d rather not know.