You never stop, do you?
I am offering a reward to anyone who can adequately explain how the hell it got to be 8/19/2005; 8/19/1999 I can accept, but not 2005.
You will win but one online writing contest.
“I know, for instance, that my brain was built entirely of leftover tendons following the creation of Achilles, but the rest of me is a complete mystery.” [Keith]
I fully understand the concept of entropy and I don’t need dead coffeemakers and broken watch bands to repeat the stupid concept to me over and over.
Oops.
Minimalist Jones walked around on the air, owned only one shirt, and rarely had hair.
Also the step-mother of intention.
That has got to be the lamest spam/virus header I’ve ever received in my in-box—so lame I nearly opened it out of pity.
She who hums “I Wanna Be Sedated” whilst working is doomed to be overwhelmed by the urge to nap by 3:00pm.
Hey, at least I got involved.
A few things might irk you today.
Please do not snore during the conference call.
“I’ll just take one teeny, tiny little bit of this praline, and then I’ll go pick up some lunch.”
Finishing your broccoli will bring you great serenity.
You will suffer immense pleasure.
Your tired feet don’t necessarily mean the journey is over.
Hobgoblins and handmaidens conspire against you.
Minimalist Jones would stare straight ahead, when talking to people, and when lying in bed.
You can count youself lucky if today is no worse than yesterday.
Fortunately, you have all your parts.
Some days form your life, while others lead you through it.
You will wear love like a Mona Lisa smile.
Enjoy jealous love while it lasts, because it won’t.
No, property isn’t theft; theft is theft; now relinquish the pleather.
The greatest mistake of your life will seem like a good idea at the time.
“Well,” she said after hearing the description of my first date with a 28 year old just getting out of a ten year relationship and sleeping on his mother’s couch, “at least you know you could do worse; You already did.”
All municipal bus drivers are crackheads.
All your base will be belong to us.
Organizational skills beyond your wildest dreams await you.
Now would be a good time to ask.
Boredom will always be the most influential force shaping your life.
’mouse wanted to shout out to the whole world about his guest-dj gig on the front-page of Wordshadows, but then he bit his lip and kept quiet, not wanting to appear gauche.
Sometimes what looks like a rising star is only a streetlight igniting, hovering all night a few feet from the ground before fading away in the morning.
Everything changed for Jolene that spring morning when she sat down in her cubicle, opened up her email account, found 372 new emails, calmly poured her coffee into the computer, walked out, took a cab directly to the airport and bought a one-way ticket to Thailand.
This house was once owned by gnomes with a hate on for all things professional.
You will smell something extremely vile, very soon.
No, there’s no harm in a captain telling a good lie now and again, especially if he’s recently been bested by a fool cabin monkey.
Your afternoon will be mostly sucky with occasional glimmers of false hope.
n’est pas?—which difficulty (along with the one of folks actually remembering it) I avoid frequently by signing myself “e,” but which does sometimes come up in unusual circmstances and so, to alleviate any reluctance fellow scriners may have should the occasion arise to actually greet me, please allow me to introduce myself: My name is EE-lee-thee-ah (but you can call me e.)
You will be forced forever to explicate your own name to those you wish to know you and nothing ever will be simple.
You are an artist; you will starve, but there will always be grouper.
Your waiter is not as he appears.
…listening to the same music I listened to 20 years ago…is it comfort I feel as the impulses fall into the same old well-worn synaptic paths…or is it numbness as the paths are dug ever deeper, while the surrounding gray matter becomes overgrown with weeds and discarded beer cans?
404 Not Found - the requested fortune was not found in this cookie
That guy across from you is not worth the effort.
Children learn to understand circles by spinning until they vomit; they plummet from barn rafters to get a tangible grip on height.
Should I assume that I’m doomed, since there was no fortune in my cookie during my Chinese lunch today?
Your life will involve a lot more running and a great deal less jumping from here on out.
No fortunes will be in your cookies.
You will dream poorly, again.
You’re lucky, there’s nothing wrong with you today that can’t be cured by a strong cup of coffee and an attitude adjustment.
You will submit your stunningly perfect, prize-winning “fortune” entry just in time to beat Keith’s August 9 deadline.
Let’s all run down to the Hundred Acre Wood and listen to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band tell us about The House at Pooh Corner [link expired to keep Keith out of jail] while we give Keith a standing ovation for perseverance, intelligence and his general good looks!
now let’s see…..which one, which one…..apparently everything is
too tall or to wide or just too big in general……there must be
somthing…
why, when I remember to check out my hit counter at the bottom of my page, does it tell me things like you scrine referred to my page 57 times in the last 24 hours when i know that’s not true—after all, it also tells me i linked to myself 359 times…
You win!
You know that time when you were the most happy you had ever been, and you were content, and everything was perfect, you were with friends and the light was just so and the meal was excellent and you looked forward to another week of the same? 5 10 14 36 45
You will determine that comments on Wordshadows are not worth the pixels they’re printed on and you will shut them off beginning at, say, 7:23 pm 8/9/2005.
You will discover that the artificial sweetener in your diet soda causes far worse depression than is caused by occasional sugar-induced mood swings and carrying a few extra pounds.
Destiny and Faith will knock on your door; you will be overcome with surprise; they will hand you a pamphlet.
I was on the verge of tears last night watching Seed of Chucky because I thought, “Christ even supernaturally possessed serial killing ugly dolls are able to form a loving relationship.”
Duck!
is it just me, or does everybody get blobs of comments emailed to them all together in one thread regardless of that upon which they comment, lending yet a further layer of obfuscation to our endeavors?
When this month is over, I’m not getting out of bed for a week.
There are phone calls you really want to pick up, but that one won’t be one of them.
You will soon have your faith tested and score a 72.
Bob had been having second thoughts about the mail-order French bride he’d ordered the month before, so he was greatly relieved when the postman finally arrived and left at his door not a wife, but a lovely 2 kilogram wheel of brie.
I’m usually here till closing time, at which point I take a look around, bleary eyed, at my fellow bleary eyed patrons, and, overcome by the sense that we have become a community tonight, I stand up on a desk and say, just as last call comes over the loudspeakers, “C’mon, everybody, one more book, it’s on me!” to riotous applause.
I’ll let John Prine explain it to ya as he did so well so many wars ago. [Link removed]
“Sir Mick is three years older than Mr Bush, but the younger man’s fast-living antics in the 1970s reputedly rivalled the rock star’s own…(Mick) is also six months older than the high priest of the neo con movement, Paul Wolfowitz, a former deputy secretary of defence and now head of the World Bank.”
i’m certain that if business is not yet booming, it will be.
I will put the corn on the cob in the fridge, I will put the tomatoes and the new boule of mozzarella on the kitchen table, I will start the water running in the bath, I will say hello to my young man, I will return to the bath, I will…
I’ve always liked bobbers more then fishing, the same way I like mornings more then the day.
The quickest way to turn invisible in an instant is to tell a covey of catholic soccer moms that you are writing a book about “Feminist Stay-at-Home Mothers.”
You need a biscuit.
At 5 p.m., as smarter people all around her bolted from their desks and raced to their subways and buses and commuter trains, Jen wondered if it was a bad sign that she was just too tired to go home.
You will
Sportsfans, let’s turn our attention to the eighth, ninth and tenth spots where there’s a fierce battle for position heating up amongst three of our finest feathered friends.
’Mouse sat there, staring at his computer, wondering if there was a better way to tell his story so the audience at Scrine would perfectly understand his feelings—which he placed somewhere on the continuum between amusement, anger and deep sadness at the patheticness of the Fates who apparently had nothing better to do today than set up the impossible interaction of traffic signals, hunger and the playlist on the local lite-muzak schlock station so that during the tiny window of less than five minutes that ‘Mouse took to duck into the store (taking him away from his usual radio haunts) he would hear none other than “Puff the Magic Dragon.”
it’s a morning, it’s a saturday, nothing hurts and I’m off to knit socks; they will be pink!
Poor, dear, sweet Abraham Jones, the only girl in the fourth grade named after her father’s favorite president.
The earth will not end in a nuclear exposion, it will just be sucked dry of all creativity and slowly return to amoebas and dust.
You obviously haven’t read any of my student’s final research papers.
Kiwi jelly is a piece of toast’s best friend.
“Is that like ‘Cher’, only for cheap Canadian set design?”
Okay, I get the part about breathing and relaxing and losing one’s attachments to striving and worldy things and getting all peaceful and unstressed and shit, but if I do all that, how the hell am I supposed to get anything DONE?
I once read somewhere that pigeons are the winged version of rats. Whilst I’d agree with some elements of that, I’d have to say that it’s a real insult to the intelligence level of rats.
As ‘Mouse watched 800,000 pounds of engineering and aluminum and highly processed fossil fuel lumber down the runway and take off in defiance of gravity and common sense, he thought, if Bhuddists ruled the world none of this would exist.
There ought to be a law limiting the amount of bad shit that any one person has to deal with in one 24-hour period.
Jo got me thinking, and since I’m too lazy to try to figure out the survey/voting tool that lurks around here somewhere, I’m taking it straight to scrine: a) What’s your gender and b) in your links, favorites or frequently read list (you decide which is appropriate), what’s the ratio (or raw number) of female bloggers to male bloggers?
Nothing gets your attention quite like having the latch on your convertible top fail, causing the top to fall back with a loud THWACK, thereby making you jump out of your skin while driving 80 mph.
Visualize with me: the quiet calm of the redwood trees, the muffled stomp of your own feet on the spongy needles, the musty woody smell of all those old trees.
Hey, check out the commenting scores; does ‘mouse get a prize?
So far in this life, I’ve ridden a horse, a cow, a pig, a donkey, a giant tortoise, an elephant, and of course, several people.
Goliard, could you roll a joint and pass it around, I’d really like a Puff. [link removed]
Sitting in a train, looking out the window, watching another train go by…. it’s easy to imagine parallel universes and ponder the reality and dimensions of your own existence.
Bob stood in the snack aisle, trying to choose between Cheetos and spicy pork rinds, wondering if the choice could be seen as a reflection of larger things—Mexico versus the United States, natural verus chemical, etc.—or if it was really nothing more than a choice between two crappy snacks, either of which would fail to alleviate his depression for even a moment and which would, regardless of his his choice, soon enough leave him feeling slightly ill.
I would have asked Keith what other goals he has riding-wise, stressing that a man’s gotta have goals, and politely putting my comment where it belongs, however, since Scrine won’t let me use the comments field, I’m just going to post my help-ticket right here in front of god and everybody—presumably the closed comments feature on a same-named entry has raised its ghostly head again.
Boing, boing, boing went the kettle. Swish, flish, plish went the scrine.
It’s Friday afternoon, folks, and it’s either time to get silly or go home.
Possibly both.
Funny, thought Bob, that the more banks they built in his small town, the less money he seemed to have.
I shut the doors once more; the eyes were making me feel more than a little disconcerted.