Target sucks.. where the hell is Wal-Mart?
The trees are all afroot with flowers, the sky is kerpuffled with clouds, and my heart is pitty patty with longing.
All it took was an oblique reference in an episode of my favorite spypr0n, and before I knew it, I found myself wondering if studying game theory would be good for me.
Let’s see, work on my paper, or go to the movies?
The life of choice seems to be a sparrow: you can fly around, just like all the regal hawks and so forth, but no humans are interested in hunting you and you seem to be able to eat just about anything.
For some reason this video strikes me as the visual embodiment of a Scrine sentence.
“Friends don’t let friends represent psychos.”
A piercing razor blade of sunlight slashed through the edge of the curtain landing on Chad’s eyelid forcing him to stir reluctantly from his alcohol induced coma, painfully he opened his eyes - head pounding from a herd of water buffalo roller blading across his forehead - the panties he was wearing riding up his crack hard and realizing with much chagrin that he was alone caused him to wonder how Mondays happen.
Humpty Dumpty went to the mall…
Most professors read papers in the exact same condition students are in when they write them.
After grading for almost 24 hours straight, the sentence “This day in age the inner workings of companies need to run both smoothly internally and externally in order to be successful in our dog eat dog world” is enough to make me swallow a cyanide tablet just to end the pain.
No more.
one of america’s most glorious, least notorious indigenous traditions: each spring the mardi gras indians march.
Something in the ionosphere got all the dogs barking at once.
It rhymes with pickle and is just about as bitter.
“Let’s take the train to anywhere
I want to feel the wind in my hair with you.”
Those whose words I long for are those who treasure their words and guard them carefully.
To Bunni. Thank you!
The sky is falling the sky is falling…oh wait, I’m sleeping on the top bunk.
I was always sort of sad that I missed NYC in the 80’s-the dangerous seediness of poorly lit streets, the over the top club scene, the yuppies doing blow in shishi restaurants-until last night when a young urban hipster with square glasses and messy hair asked me if he could do a line off my breasts.
If you call me before 9 am on a Saturday, someone better be dead or someone WILL BE.
“Is that Method acting?,” Lloyd asked as the actress in shot delivered another stilted, almost-shouted line; “noooo,” replied Bakerina, “this is what is known as the Fucking the Director school of acting.”
If you suspect you might have a drinking problem, the last thing you should do is try to give up drinking—that kind of failure is what drives a person to drink.
She envisioned herself as a being greater than time zones, able to leap boundlessly from 2 to 3:00 without only a thought.
“01001101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100110 01100101 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100100 01110101 01100011 01100101 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01111010 01100101 01110010 01101111 01110011 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 01110011,” shouted the robot, rather effectively disproving his own argument.
“I want to be an Engrish teacher when I grow up,” Yoko wrote in her best penmanship.
If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, is this cop still a giant douchebag?
Our new office shorthand seems to be based on modern texting etiquette so when I LM 4 CB on PDB ASAP I would most likely LOL if wasn’t so sadly tragic.
That if you are wearing a pair of pantyhose and the crotch keeps on migrating towards your knees, you can report the company to the Better Business Bureau.
I can’t go to the beginning of my friends birthday party, I even threw a tantrum and didn’t get my way, so tonight I’m going to hide under my bed covers with a box of chocolate(coco puffs), the only chocolate I haven’t consumed.
When foretelling of doom, it is always considered polite to end such ill forebodings with a loud, manic laugh.
I love a place that makes me sing of doom in unexpectedly cheerful ways.
Apparently I am supposed to write a essay that surpasses the California state expectations, and an added bonus, my English teacher assigned it this afternoon, isn’t that fun!
You are DOOMED!
Apparently a certain construction firm where I’m temping has some unresolved issues with the Scrine bird because it completely blocks it; ergo my absence.
The future had better hold the prospect of hover cars, or I’ll feel totally ripped off, even if they are now going to be hybrid hover cars or zero emission electric hover cars.
Although I wanted the satisfaction of the forceful arterial spray on the back of my throat as my jaws rend the tender flesh of the students who failed to complete their homework which was just to THINK, I bit into a Snickers instead and indeed am sated….for now.
“For dessert each night we turned to the slightly wanton charms of the Little Debbie product line, particularly young Debbie’s Oatmeal Creme Pies, whose velvety filling so perfectly captures an imagined marriage between buttercream frosting and Noxzema.”
I used to joke around that there was a monkey in the house who messed things up when no one was watching, but looking around just now I think it may actually be true; I don’t mind jokes becoming reality, unless of course that Nantucket guy shows up because, believe me, I don’t need to see that.
I wonder how difficult it would be to get FDA approval for cupcakes—or rather, the process of baking cupcakes—as a blood pressure reduction treatment?
Fiercely competitive, the snails got quite tetchy when certain bugs in the crowd would snigger during the quiet lead-up to the start of a race.
A couple of times now I’ve been admonished for drinking alcohol because it’s too early - but exactly how early is too early when you consider all these messy time-zones?
For the last time, my name is pronounced Shi-THEAD Azzweepay you big asshole.
The truth made her unhappy but she asked so I told her, “It’s you and not me!”
It’s not that I find diseases, in general, funny or that I’m some sort of schadenfreude-obsessed asswipe, but my shame is that I do find Tourette’s Syndrome absolutely hilarious, in sort of an endless-potential-for-situation-specific-comedy sort of way.
In a cold and uncertain world, we 300-pound Samoans living in our parents’ basements in New Jersey need to stick together.
You never know where bunnies might be hiding, even in your boots, so always check for fluffy sights, else watch out for cahoots.
Today I thought about sex just slightly more than I thought about Miss Marple’s large, sensible shoes, leading me to believe that someone is either about to get lucky, or dead.
Schrödinger’s Cat liked to celebrate the vernal equinox on March 20th, but Einstein believed that Spring didn’t officially begin until he spotted at least one farmer’s daughter wearing tight little workout shorts exposing her long bare legs and pretty little feet shod only in stylish flip flops standing in front of him at the theater concession stand and, while the cat appreciated the fact that the young women always had long, heavily braided hair hanging halfway down their backs to swat at, he felt the need to remind the elder physicist such beauty always gave him chest pains.
Five year old Nathan quietly shuffled to the kitchen, slippers shuffling against linoleum like surgical booties, to grab a midnight snack of chocolate bunny from the freezer where they laid quietly in their boxes head first like victims in a morgue waiting for their turn on the autopsy table, the freezer light flickering, adding to the eerie ambience of the night might have scared the boy if his mouth wasn’t filled with heavenly milk chocolate.
Outside my hermetically sealed office a stately oak tree - branches swaying gently to an unseen breeze that can only be simulated by the old air conditioning unit with the death rattle coughing and buzzing near my feet – waves at me playfully, daring me to play hooky and come climb its trunk until I slip unseen into the clouds beyond where a semi-retired ogre lies in wait inside a great castle for me to free a fairy princess and claim trunks full of gold and jewels.
It just doesn’t seem like a Tuesday; Monday, maybe, or Thursday, but not a Tuesday: Tuesdays are such wimpy days.
Forgive me, my iron-beaked mentor, for neglecting you lo these many days and nights, as my sentence-smithing efforts have been focused elsewhere in an effort to ensure that the untimely demise of lab mice has not been in vain, though their parents and siblings would probably disagree.
Muriel put out the Big Wish for more friends, but she wasn’t specific enough in her request; when she was promptly invited to a Pampered Chef party, she knew she had nobody but herself to blame.
At least once in one’s lifetime, one should make mashed potatoes from scratch for breakfast; only that way will one discover that once in a lifetime is enough.
Apparently, disembowelling people at a meeting is, to say the least, mildly frowned upon.
As inspired by: Br. Ezra's Exposing a falsehood
Dot’s little siter Kiki is hanging her bear; she may or may not grow up to be a serial killer.
I just discovered that a regular reader who, for reasons in retrospect I can’t fully grasp, I was sure, for years, was a woman, is in fact a straight married man with a baby; even though he did absolutely nothing to knowingly mislead me, I still feel betrayed.
Tammy realized she wasn’t in California anymore when she pulled up at a stoplight next to a semi full of pigs.
The novel Cellular, for example, made me want to vomit hot blood from my eyeballs…. and not in the good way.
Apparently I am smart enough to get into law school, but not smart enough to read my financial aid eligibility statement.
Sometimes I dream that I am an old golf ball whose cover has been just peeled off by someone who wants to witness a high pressure unraveling.
I can only do about six things at once—after that I begin to get a) confused and b) grumpy.
The fact that National Barbershop Quartet Day is April 11 is no good reason for Keith to add a new genre to Scrinetunes.
Sometimes Peter mailed certified letters to himself just so he could pretend the mailman was his bitch.
In the bad neighborhood I used to live in, postal service was suspended because of snipers.
If only their taste in television were a bit more sophisticated, then we could sit around watching TiVo by the hour and eating bags of chips.
I’d probably convert to a lot more religions if more of them thought to offer free cake.
‘mouse fell asleep on the Greyhound bus and dreamed of chrome.
Could someone please tell the people having a loud throbbing party in my head that after 2 days I’m not amused, and no I wasn’t informed of the party in advance, nor was I invited.
I don’t like hippies and I don’t like cornbread and I don’t like much.
I thought Danny Bonaduce’s new show entitled “I Know My Kid’s a Star”, in which a panel of children and their stage parents debase themselves for our entertainment, was as bad as it could get until I heard about “Celebracadabra” in which burnt out celebrities compete while learning about magic as they attempt to make their careers reappear.
When all you have left to do is read incomprehensible textbooks, the dirty dishes start to look incredibly entertaining.
As his arms split into shards of bone and strips of flesh, Jeremy’s last thoughts were nothing more than a flash of white heat.
You can rationalise it all and feel very sensible and behave in a level-headed manner, but in the end nothing actually stops it from hurting.
I deeply mourn the demise of the bench seat.
Jesus explained to Pat Robertson that the reason he didn’t come to the door or answer the phone on Fridays was because it was shabbos, but Robertson found himself nonplussed and reminded his Lord and Savior that Sunday was actually “his day, and Jesus found himself, for the umpteenth time, gently reminding Robertson that he was Jewish and not Christian therefore the Sabbath fell at sundown Friday evening and when Robertson started to protest, Jesus just smiled sagely and said, “Shabbot Shalom” and walked away quickly before the televangelist could say more.
The guy who recently eliminated my position just got promoted.
As inspired by: Bunni's They Already Jumped the Shark
Roscoe - 6ft, 310lb of pure Italian summo wrestler beef cake- knocked heavily on my door shouting and demanding that I open the door which I knew meant trouble, and liking my facial features where they are I chose to hide in my bedroom closet rather than open the door and explain why I paid his 15 year old son to announce at Good Friday services that The Fonz, second person of the trinity, had jumped a shark on prime-time television for the remission of our sins.
Jack DeBounier, literary agent for children’s author I.P. Freely, found himself mobbed by an angry mob of parents when it was learned that Freely was the nom de plum of celebrated pornographer Seymour Butts
The heater won’t go on, so the cat is glued to my lap, making the coffee maker just too far away.
Reading some of my Scrine entries of late, I begin to wonder whether it’s entirely healthy to have the Chicken of Doom in my kitchen.
If I was brave enough to admit that I watch Lipstick Jungle for some unknown reason, I would suggest to the writers that while they think they are being all “edgy” by showing an attractive successful stylist being hit on by a couple in this past episode that you can’t live in NYC for more than a year without knowing when one is being hit on by a couple.
Tammy found her temporary position in the collections agency quixotic; as she reveled in one agent’s ability to repo a man’s car she realized her newfound profession, albeit short-lived, was the absolute antithesis of the American dream.
Its not true that every child who kills their family pets grows up to be a serial killer, my best friend is a professional counselor.
Next, they’ll fill the Grand Canyon with uranium.
This morning with a fresh cup of coffee warming my insides making me feel more human and lovable then I have in weeks, I decided to write a blog entry about the need for religious tolerance and then I read this and decided to write about deflowering nubile 18 year old evangelical girls instead just because it will piss off their parents who still think that abstince programs really work.
“I HAVE FORGOTTEN MORE THAN YOU WILL EVER KNOW!” I screamed unfairly at my stepson brandishing proof in the form of my final grade in a continuing education language arts class - I had once been good at this subject bringing home A’s - showing that I had, indeed, forgotten everything I had ever learned….everything!
As the alien ship disengorged the last of its intergalactic rubbish into the cold black deep of the Pacific, the aliens high-fived one another then muttered in their native gibberish, ‘The fools will blame each other’.
The floating garbage island in the middle of the ocean deserves some kind of carefully scrined sentence, but I’m too boggled to come up with anything good.
Syncromesh is for sissies.
What bellicose and flatulent elf doth wander my garden at night wilting my prized roses as he passes silently by?
These are not the Twinkies that you want.
Big action at the birdfeeder, and my cat is making clacking sounds; must be spring.
Dear Urinal #1 User: If my puppy piddled on the floor the way you do, I’d smack it on the nose with a rolled up newspaper.
Life would be a little better if we could all just be neighbors and share milk and cookies at naptime; start here.
My pet rock just died!
Since the death of Arthur C. Clarke - co-author of 2001: A Space Odyssey - I have become obsessed with making sure I have poignant music playing at the end of my life to add emphasis and meaning to my life.
The day before he was to be married I advised my son that a “pre-nup” is good insurance unless he has the means to afford a publicist and a posse.
sent to me, with his twin to some unknown child elsewhere, he’s so cool he makes me cry!
Schrodinger’s Cat mused out loud to Einstein about the death of Arthur C. Clarke wondering if he had a David Bowman moment as he drew his terminal breath, but Einstein thought that instead of a “My God, it’s full of stars” moment he probably disintegrated into millions of nano particles but conceded that it would have been cool if Clarke had turned into a fetus floating through space in a bubble like David Bowman did at the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey.
As a child, the philosopher John Locke once reflected upon the act of turning 8: “As things develop at any birthday party, three camps will emerge: there will be those who hold that cake exists only in thought—these are the idealists who will never want to come to another one of my depressing birthday parties; there will be those who hold that cake subsists in only matter—these are the materialists who will never want to come to another one of my depressing birthday parties; and then there are those who hold that cake subsists both in thought and in matter—these are the dualists who will never want to come to another one of my depressing birthday parties.”
As a child, Friedrich Nietzsche learned how to blow out birthday candles with his icy cold stare.
Cramming a cake through the wires may be messy, but it’s worth it.
As inspired by: A reminder from John P. Grier
You are only young once, but you can be immature for a lifetime.
Go, Keith,
it’s yer birthday,
go, Keith,
it’s yer birthday…
[repeat as necessary and/or desirable]
As inspired by: the man with so much life; Keith
“Life is something that happens when you can’t get to sleep.”
Green beer has many more vitamins and minerals than its pale counterpart.
Jan van de Boer, voted most likely to drive a Zamboni in his senior year, was the only one in his class actually living up to the promises of his fading youth and he enjoyed lording this over his former classmates at each reunion, but the day the ice melted before the championship game between the Winterhawks and Nixon’s Plumbing Jan realized that maybe this esteemed honor was actually meant as a cruel joke.
It is my belief that one can watch Law & Order somewhere in the world at each hour of the day; the *clink clink* is universal.
While watching “How it’s Made” and learning how accordions are assembled, I had to wonder what kind of business model an accordion manufacturer runs on: I don’t see the polka fever sweeping the nation any time soon.
Maybe I’ll dust that shelf, I said to myself; the next thing I knew, the fridge had been moved two feet to the left and I was attacking the floor with hot water, borax, vinegar, grease-cutting dishsoap, a weak bleach solution and fists of fury.
Her hands shook as she placed the final brick on her fortress of solitude; tomorrow she’d spend some quality time taking the wall down.
My inner Irish-American can’t help but marvel why we celebrate a man who destroyed our ancestor’s indigenous culture by wearing green underpants and drinking green beer; I want to pee on St. Patrick’s shoes.
Chad always felt that a person’s name often told the real story, and for example he had never met a man name Dick who wasn’t just that, or a Larry that wasn’t a total Larry but when it came to guys named Wally…well it was best not to ask.
“That’s it, this time it’s no more Little Ms Nice Guy!”, yelled Denelle to the rather bemused crowd.
Things eaten with fingers, standing by the stove, are much more yummy than things eaten formally with table and fork.
founder’s day is this tuesday; what shall we do to celebrate our liege?
In the great “Bay Area v. Boston” geographic smackdown, I do not intend to fight fair.
I love this country—I hope whoever buys it takes as good care of it, and has as much fun with it as we did !!!
It was sweet when some guy in China paid way too much for the camera lenses I was selling on eBay; it was not so sweet when some guy in Europe overpaid for the 1946 Chevy truck I was planning to buy.
Twenty minutes into the new day and all she wanted was to go back to bed.
I don’t know where my daughter got her restless refusal to sleep, so it’s a good thing I have all night to think about it.
Tammy was trying to decide which she loved more: sleeping until noon or getting up at 8 and eating fresh french toast that made the house smell wonderful.
Words doubtless have their own life, occasionally twisting out of the control of those in charge, often long outliving their original author, and some have existed so long that perhaps they come close to immortality, so that we are no more than a moment in their endless lives.
The library, she lives!
“It always seemed to me the greatest loss of the game Clue that one could never do it to Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the book.”
This is better than honey, thought Little Bear happily as he leaned against his favorite tree and gently licked at the giant lollipop the sweet little girl had dropped when her father grabbed her and dragged her away screaming about “the Mamma Bear must be around here somewhere, run!” when he caught her holding her lolli out to give Little Bear a lick.
“My blog is world-famous,” boasted Muriel, “if you count the woman in Britain, the guy in Holland, the guy in Tokyo, the two folks in Australia ...”
Every day was Christmas to Witherspoon, right down to the festive Santa stickers he put on all his outgoing faxes.
I’m just using you to avoid my term papers, I thought it was best if you knew now, before finals week came around and things turn sour.
Rachel was taken aback by Davis’ statement that he owned mahogany causing him to backpedal, but his date still suspected that his reference to the magnificent postmaster’s roll top desk he purchased at an estate sale was still a euphemism for something.
Dr. Stanley thought seriously about quiting his practice if the elderly gentlemen in his care continued to eat cheese against his sound medical advice.
Properly accoutered, a single head of lettuce will get excellent mileage.
A world where skin is always firm and supple and never itches like a mofo due to excessive dryness is all I need in the way of presidential campaign promises.
Suction Cup Man found himself relegated to a desk job at the Justice League due to his unfortunate M.O. which made sneaking up on super villains impossible as the thwuck-thwuck-thwuck sound he made whenever he walked gave him away.
It’s hard to imagine a place without socks.
I’m your penis, I’m your fire, what’s your desire.
Rock the catbox.
While my dishwasher gently swoshes, I dream sweet dreams of coffee and yogurt.
stop expecting people to act like humans.
She couldn’t help but love the fact that her temporary office had an easy button, and she would carry it around all day long were it not for the interesting first impression she would make on her co-workers.
Last night the evening sky, reminiscent of wet paper slowly absorbed the bright oranges and subdued violet watercolors of the sun.
Noah and Joan of Ark cordially invite you to the christening of their new yacht this Saturday, March 15th at the New Galilee Yacht Club…RSVP!
Someday, a big Hollywood movie will be made about my exciting adventures, with the title There Will Be Poop.
Opposing counsel, with their ridiculous lucky ties and lucky underwear superstitions are no match for good, old fashioned preparation, mused Juan as he tucked his lucky rabbits foot into his pocket and headed for the courtroom.
there’s a new tiny little box with a copper crow on top to put my stash in, but i’ve no idea how to open it:)
Every time Al Gore calls and tells me about his plan to reel in all the Internet wires with the hope that he’ll snag Bigfoot, I remind him about all the pornographers he’s going to catch, and that there’s not enough chum buckets in the entire Universe to hold them all, and that I’m not even sure sharks will eat a pornographer, let alone millions of pounds of them, even if they are naked and wiggly.
“I am the best friend the church ever had,” the Devil remarked as he stretched his long, slender legs out underneath the table, “Without me no one would come into your silly buildings and listen to you prattle on about such nonsense.”
Earlier this week my spiritual counselor advised me to be quiet and listen for the still, small voice within and I will get the answers the I seek, but each time I follow her advice all I hear is that same Marlboro coated voice saying, “Elvis, we got to win that race!
In her review of the show “The Return of Jezebel James” author Amber Ray described series creator Amy Sherman-Palladino as “charmingly witty” and included the following quote to illustrate this quality, “We can’t get our dog to crap on cement”; Voltaire, long in his grave, only wishes he had thought of such a line.
Being the butt of a tongue-tangler is one thing, but it gets to being something else when a poor little woodchuck can’t enjoy a beer in peace and quiet.