“I just miss living somewhere that has seasons…Los Angeles is room temperature year round,” the man complained; the woman across from him piped up motioning to the downpour outside, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…we’re having a season today.”
On the programming guide I see something called This Week in War, and I kind of want to watch it, just to see which televangelist hosts it.
As inspired by: Jo's Her Abilities
She was able to put a severed head on each finger, but she couldn’t make them all talk at once.
On hot days, Henry would imagine himself as a knight-errant on an all-desert planet, chivalrously sweating to death inside his armor.
Keith became a rich man after inventing the stick-on Scrine scab, but lost it all after falling for a scam artist selling miniature house giraffes.
Scrine could be (if we didn’t like it quite so much) likened to a scab that you just can’t help but pick.
When I read the headline “Evil Kneivel Dies at 69” I was thinking that was a rather ludicrous way to die.
If, like many folk from the UK and Australia you grew up with Doctor Who, you might appreciate this Christmas themed story ’Mr. Dalek Discovers the True Meaning of Christmas‘ - and even better Tony Gallichan (the narrator) advises me via my StumbleUpon mailbox that ‘theres more Mr Dalek stories - 3 more so far and one more this xmas (hopefully, lol)’. (see also whomix.trilete.net).
The men’s heads are harder to pull off than the women’s.
At the Legislature, as is true everywhere, staffers measure their own importance by how early they are able to leave the office on a Friday.
If it weren’t for the curve of the Earth, we could all celebrate beer o’clock at the same time.
No motorcycle-riding action figure was safe from the influence Evel Knievel had on young boys (and a few girls like me) in the 70’s.
Grud rolled her eyes as yet another mellow song started up - from a play list that includes metal, punk, blues, pop, country AND western, screaming banshees, stuff spanning almost every era, music from new Australian bands and some pretty weird shit it’s very bizarre to have such consistency in what’s being played.
humbug, she usually was forced to admit, but really only because she had no one for whom to shop, herself, but this year all was redeemed by her new school, which allowed the teachers to adopt some children for the season, anonymously buying them the things that they wanted in time for them to take them home at the break, where they might not have been able to get them; she chose two seven-year-old-boys who each wrote down that they wanted “art supplies” even though they didn’t even know she’d be reading it and, upon further investigation, discovered that yes, indeed, they were students in her very own classes! fa la la la la…oh and baseball stuff and a scooter, what does “a scooter” mean to a seven-year-old these days, could she swing it? (la la la la.)
Evel Kneival, Robert Goulet and my father all died from a form of pulmonary fibrosis and while I am glad that he is in such august company, it is worrisome that this disorder is seems more common than it ought to be.
It’s times like this that I wish I had held on to my Evel Knieval stunt cycle and the pack of illegal bottle rockets I purchased on the Indian Reservation.
While the versions are quite different - some well done and some amusing, I still think that 101 versions of Stairway to Heaven could be a little much - I blame Andrew Denton for the CD and the over abundance of this song in my music rotation.
Evel Knieval lit the fuse on the rocket pack strapped to his bed and grinned at death as they both began their final leap over the cavernous abyss
Sleep deprivation isn’t the best way to achieve well structured and well spelled sentences.
I told the maitre de to seat the fickle beast as far away from the fresh butter as he possibly could, so as far as I’m concerned, let him clean up the vomit.
grud’s home, and i sez “well, all RIGHT!”
Bert rolled the ball around in his hands - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, (geez, how many sides can one ball have) - as he turned it around and around in his hands he kept counting, each bit of light that glinted off the surface, in his minds eye, became a surface - two-hundred-and-one, two-hundred-and-two…
Why do almost all grandchildren have a memory of a clock at their grandmothers that ticked a little louder than necessary, making it almost impossible to sleep?
In my humble opinion people who start out sentences with the first four words of this one, IMHO or similar need to be walked on like the doormat they are pretending to be… I’m just saying!
Dr. Leo tested the patients resistance to notionality by tickling the bottoms of their feet with common household items like doll heads, elevator buttons, and a homemade elephant-hair toothbrush; many of the patients were curious were he’d acquired the test items, but his concentration was such during those early years that he seldom even heard them speak.
A flood of relief, joy and some evil maniacal laughter coursed through her veins as she told her supervisor to shove it where the sun don’t shine; only 22 working days left.
Pursing her lips and pushing her glasses up her nose somewhat firmly Margery set out purposely to show them that fun wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and that they really needed to take life a little more seriously.
at these stupid things:
“I have you by the scruff,” Death told Henry, “so no, we’re not going to call this just another brush.”
The judge kept her custom Magic 8-Ball out of view but relied on it for all her rulings.
As inspired by: Br. Ezra's Cost effective legal advice
“Magic8Ball, do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?… No?… Your honor, I rest my case,” smiled Juan, knowing he’d just recovered over $80,000 that his client’s ex-husband thought he’d gotten away with hiding.
“Psst c’mere,” hissed my boss; I dutifully went into his office and huddled over his desk so he could whisper the following to me: “Is that guy downstairs as creepy as I think he is… oh and is he dangerous creepy or just slimy creepy?”
When it came to obtaining legal advice Hirum recommends his Magic 8-ball as a cost effective alternative to expensive lawyers who, while still appearing human, are really robots in drag.
As inspired by: 'mouse's Perfect
The Honorable Hirum Abernathy ordered the baliff to clear his courtoom as the onerous stench from the expiring attorneys filled the air making it difficult to breathe without gagging.
When whistling a poor man’s song, take your time and be careful not to use up all your notes on the first verse.
It’s only fun to pick on Herbert Hoover because his presidential powers extend only 100 yards beyond the grave, but cross that line and crack a joke and believe me, you’ll soon be whistling a different tune.
The California Bar Association shows two lawyers age 100, 8 age 99 and 14 age 98—it seems to me if you practice that long we should stop calling it “practice” and simply call you “perfect.”
The ether sent me this spam today:
abram andersen abet
afterglow arsine
bard afoot barre acolyte
What does it mean?
Jason quickly overbid for the used Sears-Roebuck Trampoline he found on e-bay because it was a genuine tough skin and had only been used periodically for rapture practice by a devout elderly lady who lives in Pasadena.
My revolutionary economics system based upon the bartering of dry skin flakes isn’t going over very well with the affluent and young, but is being well-received by the aging Baby Boomer generation.
Dr. Stevenson often referred to his book as “the Kama Sutra of anthropology,” although most reviewers agreed that it was about as informative as reading the heavily edited John Winthrop Puritan sex study notes.
It was a good thing Grud and Keith wouldn’t recognize one another after Keith (who begged forgiveness for his beginner’s faux pas) allowed his computer mouse to meander, causing his avatar to “check out” Grud’s avatar; luck was on Keith’s side, however, when he didn’t accidently hit the hubba-hubba button.
The main issue I have with Scrine is that when you are away (through the whim of others or because of your own laziness), you just think you miss it - but it’s not until you return that your realise just how much this is true and then are forced to obsessively make up for long absences.
Grud and Keith finally met face to face and yet still wouldn’t recognise one another in a crowd.
‘I have a nylon fetish’ was his opening line - not hello, or how are you… just the nylon fetish thing - and then, and ‘I’m into water sports’ to which, (in my naivity, I respond, ‘oh what… canoeing? surfing?), *sigh* - it was a whole *different* kind of water sports - more along the lines of - ‘hurry up… I’m busting… I’ve gotta go!’ - did I feel stoopid or what?
Grud entered the 18 digit swiss bank account number with a wee sense of awe and when asked by the very straight laced bankers what the password might me for the account, she crossed her fingers behind her back and carefully enunciated ‘scrine’ at which point, without any change of expression the staid bankers transferred US$9,456,321 into her new offshore account.
As inspired by: grudknows's Shockedta
My 9yo got home from school early a few days ago and, unsupervised, wandered over next door, played with the grandmotherly and grandfatherly neighbors’ dog and ate fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookies; that it even flitted across my mind, “is that safe?” is far more evil and horrible than any old man putting on a silly costume, having a nip of brandy and making children laugh and delight in a joyful cultural fantasy of Christmas.
“Bald, tattooed, introvert seeks those burning with the eternal flame of hatred and intolerance as followers to aid in establishment of Fourth Reich-no fatties.”
Rufus told my friend Schuster that he thought people lived too long these days; Schuster agreed completely and told Rufus that he’d help him out as soon as he got his gun out of hawk.
After a short stint of being a santa’s helper somewhere in my late teens (and a result being one of the few people world wide that possibly includes a reference from santa with the odd job application) I was shocked to discover that Santa is a creepy old guy - my friend pointed out today over lunch that break and entry and watching children a little too closely were not things that nice people did - I had to concede that the evidence was compelling and now have to live with the guilt that I put effort into convincing other folk that he’s just a jovial old man - I’m telling you because I want it on public record that I’m ashamed to have been part of such a huge conspiracy.
Why am I the first person people think of when they want to offload a TV?
Grud has been off pottering around in various aspects of life - in particular, experimenting with just how much sleep deprivation one person can handle, having a full *actual* life, building empires in Second Life, working AND spending time or catching up with the people I love - all which leaves very little time to nap.
The tall man returned the short girls smiles (which wasn’t particularly reassuring) and said ‘cake’ and when the short girls turned back to finish consuming their cake they found only giblets.
The short girls ate cake while the tall man stood at the window and watched wistfully - feeling his glance upon them, they turned and smiled… gloatingly - who knew short girls could be so mean?
Bessy held the giblets up to her nose and, in rapture, breathed in the smell of fresh meat.
Once upon a time there was a girl who stayed home a little late on a Thursday morning to wait for the Fed Ex man to deliver a package, an an ornery package from an unknown sender that insisted on being delivered to the home address, presented right at the door and signed by the girl (no, there would be no changing of the delivery to her work address); imagine the girl’s surprise when this ornery package wasn’t in fact for her but was addressed to the girl who lived in the apartment before she did (a mere 1.5 years previous); this girl sadly handed the package back to the Fed Ex man and went out to her car to go to work, but then tragedy struck: her apartment complex was working on the parking garage and she could not move her car from its appointed spot; thus, the girl sadly trudged back to her apartment, called in sick to work, and stayed home knitting all day long.
I can’t tell wether or not my neighbor has elves (or something else related to Christmas)riding a seesaw on there front lawn, or if i’m just seeing things, my imagination has never looked so sparkly before.
I humbly kneel down to the floor and worship the sacred LSAT gods, I offer them ambrosia and Armani suits and BMW Z4s and copious amounts of wine and cheese in the hopes that our dear Bakerina shall ace their stupid mothereffen test.
Paper scraps, butter wrappers, and anything sticky or smelly that is dropped into my kitchen’s trash can from a height not greater than 12” above the rim of the can will catch a secret, mysterious breeze, causing it to flutter onto the floor, but for those skeptics in the house, yes, it could just be a case of palsy hands.
As inspired by: Br. Ezra's Whoopsie
“Simroid is an infinitely better name for a robot then Hemorrhoid,” the marketing director proclaimed; “Hemorrhoid just sounds like ass.”
Keith’s worst fear has just been confirmed, Ellen Barkin’s sexually aroused face is real!
Devon maintained it was an accident but, nonetheless, the White House press secretary felt it prudent to replace the young man with a new fangled Japanese robot when, during the president’s entrance, Devon inadvertently played calliope music instead of the prescribed “Hail to the Chief.”
What not even the deli knows is that I’ve been cheating on the sandwich with the soup.
Random Allison tells all her dates that The Eagle’s Hotel California is about her and it was written after the year she spent interning in the front office.
When her Zen master asked Random Allison to show him the face she possessed before she was born she immediately dropped trou and mooned the sage.
Pepe returned to Scine a dejected mess; in the posts since his last appearance he had been searching for fulfillment, enlightenment and all that zen, but sadly all he found were scores upon scores of degenerate tacos and flautas.
Random Allison dreamed of being famous and having her autobiography ghost written by her favorite author, Richard Scarry.
“All this enlightenment malarkey is nothing more than smoke and mirrors”, she told the bartender, who, a moment later, was more than a little surprised when the woman became enveloped in a cloud of colours, was gently entwined with ribbons of scents, was suffused in a glorious cacophony of sounds, and disappeared ecstatically and without a trace.
As she sat on the edge of the world, the girl wove patterns of colour and ribbons of smells, entwining fairies, dragonflies, pistachio nuts, jacaranda blossoms, trolls, harps and anything else that made her smile.
Just like in real life, the actors who work for my movie studio are content sleeping together in one big heap at the end of the day.
It’s usually being chased by Fear and you don’t want to know who or what is chasing Fear.
On the flip-side, if you’re underneath the planet who knows what calamities await you on the other side of the zeroes.
I can feel them waiting.
“And, here on your left, you will find the 888th level of hell, which we all fondly refer to as Fixation Corner, oh-hoh-hoh.”
Always know when to run away with their ears down and their tails between their legs.
As inspired by: Keith's Pinocchio Intro For Your Viewing Pleasure
Never trust a man whose face you could use to unplug your toilet.
They are never better than when they indulge you and allow you to rant.
Tammy could never understand how the garbage truck managed to emit a sound that sounded like the first note of the ringtone on her cell phone, but after reaching for the phone one too many times in her sleep, she resolved to kill the garbage men on their 7am appointed rounds.
To avoid night sweats, I never read Reaganomic murder mysteries after 8 p.m., and am careful not to leave the book near my pillow when I fall asleep.
He didn’t ask, “Will you marry me?,” but instead posed the more accurate question: “Are you interested in an exchange of relational diplomacy, which I ask based on the factual assumption that our periodical interactions have increased in both frequency and psychological pleasurableness?”
Random Allison spent her lunch break following the hapless Eva Marie around humming “dum duh dum dum duhhhhh” each time Eva dropped something that her extremely tight skirt made bending over to pick up logistically impossible.
Forget exploring Mars - scientists need to get back to the lab and come up with a cure for bad luck.
For those not old skool enough to remember, Q-Bert was the most foul-mouthed video-game character ever, what with his #@&%*@ and !@*#&$ and the occasional #&$*@^ thrown in for good measure.
Random Allison thought it great fun to crouch behind the bushes outside Anne Coulter’s bedroom braying like a donkey.
The ingredients in my Chinese herbal blood pressure tea include something called horny old goat weed…this might just explain a few things at that.
I hope I’m not in the office when the window washers come by, because questions concerning all this rubber cement and glitter are sure to be awkward.
The only muscle I didn’t strain this morning moving my shelves and books to make room for the filming of a Pinocchio show was my brain, but that’s probably only because I didn’t use it.
Peter thought common sense reeked of failure and shame, and could smell it coming three days in advance.
Random Allison believed that her ability of bilocation made her responsible for creating a sense of the surreal for her co-workers; she would often walk around the office tapping people on the shoulder while sitting at her desk.
The rather unfortunate 3-way ended abruptly after Hillary made the mistake of calling Anne an elephant, causing Anne to storm from the room, which brought tears to Br. Ezra’s eyes, which caused Hillary to snap, “If I wanted tears, I could have stayed home with Bill,” which caused the Politicians Gone Wild camera crew to call it a wrap and go home.
When the ideas ran out, it didn’t take long for the rust to go to work on their metal skullcaps.
I’m wondering what happens when you turn things around and tickle the Scrinebird with the enlightenment feather.
“I find Hillary Clinton kind of hot,” slurred Larry, continuing the thought way too far, “For her, I’d put on a blue dress and crawl under her desk any time.”
A perfect donut embodies all that ever was and all that ever will be.
Santa Claus may be a hero to all the children of the world but, to Mrs. Claus he is just a fat, grumpy old man who scratches himself and tracks snow and reindeer scat onto to her clean carpets.
Because I’ll be deep in the books for the next two days, I will be unable to beg St. Jude and St. Joseph of Cupertino for assistance; if, however, you would like to nudge them on my behalf, I will not say no.
When Oscar spotted the first new bamboo leg sprouting up near his groin, he thought it was kind of cute and didn’t say anything to his doctor, but when three more sprouted up on his thigh and he started having trouble getting into his slacks, he called to make an appointment.
One day while watching dancing with the “stars” Bad Father got the bright idea to try one of the flips with his youngest daughter, Kiki, and they tried it and it went beautifully until they decided to show off their new skills to Dot, but unfortunetly the celing in the library was much lower than in the living room… (THUMP - WAAAAAAH - Sound of Dot laughing so hard she nearly passes out).
One hundred fifty sentences silently passed by her until she couldn’t remember a time before Scrine.
Eddie kept his ego on a shelf in his bedroom closet, and while he seldom took it down, he always made sure to dust it off every Tuesday.
If I had a cup of coffee for every time I’ve forgotten to set the timer on the automatic coffeemaker, I’d be a happy man.
“I thought that was just a saying”, said Fred as he watched Natasha stride into the room, her toes jingling with every step.
November just wouldn’t seem complete without a sentence about my dryer lint fetish.
As inspired by: boot's undaunted
After things had quieted down a bit Patrick subtley inclined his head indicating Henrietta and confided to Juan, “She’s my client and you know what? I love it when they’re batshit crazy like that—I double their retainer on the spot—I don’t mind working for crazy, but I’m damn well gonna get well paid for it.”
As inspired by: Keith's Sick of the Chauvinism
Henrietta stormed into the pub, pushed Bob off his bar-stool, slapped Juan in the face, threw a pint of perfectly good beer at Henry’s trousers and shouted “Pay attention to me!”
Chester found himself wondering how many indulgences he would gain for nailing a Catholic School girl, especially is she was still a virgin or at least pretended to be.
jingle, jingle, december?
Random Allison believed herself to be quite rude because she kept eavesdropping on the conversation she was having with herself.
She wrote 700 sentences, in preparation for 700 more.
Henrietta’s throat convulsed, sickened by the sight of so many “Henry” references.
No one ever claimed that the pen was mightier than the shovel, especially if they’d been hit in the head by both.
Giraffes should never wear short skirts.
The gentleman spread his arm elegantly in front of him, waited and smiled as Jemima walked, mildly stunned, into the lift first.
There is no sentence that aptly explains this, but I love it anyway.
It’s not so much that the pen is mightier than the sword, but more that the pen is sometimes unexpectedly sharp and unrelenting.
Some books get so far inside your head that, for a little while, you can only see the world through the author’s eyes.
Making a list of all the things you do at work to give to your supervisor with your resignation letter so she knows how many things she has to reassign within that 2 week notice.
Since their decision to separate, the house had become a minefield of broken promises: everywhere Henry looked lay awkward reminders of the things they had planned to do together - holidays, pets, home improvements, and even, sickeningly, a dog-eared jewelry catalogue.
Apparently the pickaxe is mightier than the shovel, and your back is far mightier than mine.
There is absolutely no proof to substantiate the rumors that after taping an episode Mr. Rogers would practice his sharpshooting skills around the neighborhood on poor innocent squirrels and the slower schoolchildren.
That incident with the gerbil was taken totally out of context (but yes, gerbils were harmed in the making of this myth).
I knew that attempting to figure out what’d gone wrong with this sentence couldn’t possibly be understood with another useless sonogram, yet there I was, playing doctor and scrubbing in for the rewrite.
Installation of the camoflaged cell phone tower in the pine forest took less than a week, which was, of course, a pine tree’s equivalent of a blink of the eye; in the ensuing years, however, the trees occasionally took notice of the interloper, and would whisper among themselves how extrordinary had been its prodigious growth spurt, and how odd it was that it never spoke a word to its neighbors.
First they made fun of my lawn, then they started chopping at it; next thing you know they’ll start flinging it around and giggling.
There is no substantiating proof to the claim that Victoria Principal’s ex-husband, Dr. McGreedy, divorced her because of her head too closely resembling that of an oversized Barbie doll.
As inspired by: Keith's Movie Star Urban Legends ~ Paul Newman
It is a little known fact that Tom Cruise and Mork from Ork are actually first cousins, nanoo nanoo.
While it’s not actually illegal to paint the neighborhood children bright red so long as they’re willing participants, it’s still kind of hard to get away with.
It has never been proven that Paul Newman swims around in the salad dressing vats very often.
Tammy began this day like any other: she checked her email, did the daily crossword, checked her blog reader, did the daily sudoku, surfed the web a bit, got a cup of tea and then settled in for 10 minutes of work before quitting time.
Leadership within The Rollston Foundation was never an issue, since it was clear from the beginning what had to be done.
Rufus and my friend Schuster both agreed it was ethically responsible of the world to fight for a Middle Eastern woman’s right to wear a short skirt, and when I tried to point out that I thought their discussion had jumped the tracks somewhere, and seemed to just be about sex, again, Schuster’s rebuttal was that all men’s discussions were “technically” about sex in some shape or form, a point which Rufus wholeheartedly agreed with.
Blonde women over 30 should not wear their hair in pig tails, unless they are dressed up like Catholic School Girls with a penchant for being naughty.
down memory lane. Ugh.
“Are you saying I am fat?” was all my girlfriend could thing to ask when I explained that I really wanted to date an Australian woman like Jacqueline McKenzie or maybe Claudia Black.
Yak testicles and snapple.
My submission for the fiction section of ‘Passive Aggressive Quarterly’ was returned with a note that read, “The writing was exceptional, all things considered, however, we hope you agree that as a literary magazine, mediocrity is a killer, not that your submission was mediocre, gosh no; hardly.”
Rufus claimed it wasn’t bad etiquette to make guttural noises while on the toilet, especially if you had bad gas, but my friend Schuster vehemently disagreed and told Rufus that as soon as he finished washing his hair he was getting out of the shower to kill him.
When he’d met with the agent to buy dental insurance, Peter had gone with the Little Red Wagon Plan, which was not only affordable, but had a cute, homey feel to its name that appealed to the child in him; it wouldn’t be until several months later that he found out it only paid for pulling.
She erected a large pile of assorted stuff and then stepped out into the clear, just like a termite.
They’re just empty boxes, so please stop yelling at me when you can’t get them exactly when and where you want them.
God, I LOVE those sparkly, sweaty, glistening, shiney, adjectives.
Yesterday in math class the teacher said, “ok children lets start off with a few new math problems, ‘what’s five times two,’” and Clyde replied, “twelve” in a questioning voice, and the teacher contiued without missing a beat in a peppy voice, “Ok, now let’s try to get an answer from someone who’s not a complete retard!”
Dot taught her little sister kikki how to swear.
As inspired by: Keith's Four Simple Giraffe Rules To Live By
I think that to be a Scriner you probably need to be an anihumorian (one who finds animals inherently funny).
The human brain never ceases to amaze me: I can remember exactly where I was at a particular moment in time, what I was wearing and what I could smell wherever I was, but I cannot simultaneously count to 7 (my stitch pattern) and to 5 (the number of zaps to the dvr remote so I skip the commercials); one or the other is always stuffed up.
If you push Polly very gently, she is likely to dissolve into a cloud of insecurities.
While boot slept on, Becky wrestled the placeholder out from underneath the pillow and wondered why there were now 888 lemmings dancing on the walls.
My rules regarding giraffes in the house are simple: no running except in the hall, no kicking at the dog, no peering around doorways, and necks down in the dining room to avoid the chandelier.
It’s really because ‘cloak and machine gun’ doesn’t have the same zing to it.
As the planet rotated gloriously in its blanket of stars and dust,