Jake felt wretched as he watched over the giant beast that struggled fruitlessly within the ropes, looking as mad as all hell, when suddenly it broke free, took a bloody huge bounce towards him and started kicking him in the head.
I should take a cup of coffee and walk to the back of the property to see the pear blossoms before they drop, past the barn and through the nursery, maybe stopping along the way to see if the killdeer eggs have hatched, knowing I’m almost guaranteed a smile watching the mother and father killdeer limp along ahead of me, pretending they’ve broken their wings.
It’s a bit disappointing that with all these wonderful April Fool’s Day hoaxes about, none of them have occurred on Scrine.
Prozac.
When I was younger, I seem to recall moving not involving such a a disproportionate amount of sweating.
All of our orifices are protected by some kind of viscous, disgusting fluid, and I, for one, propose filling up the unused holes with nice clean putty.
my cigarette salute to the rising sun
is behind schedule now.
not The boot, but a boot, for boot.
I think that naps are in order.
“Makes for good boogers.”
The profits and successes once realized by America’s small businesses have been systematically stripped away through a series of well-planned strategies, all part of the corporatization, and eventual privatization, of this once hopeful and great country, and survival, if that is even possible anymore, is going to be as difficult as milking the fifth tit.
The words fluttered about her head, spouting wisdom, nonsense, insight and strangeness, with the occasional piece of buttered scone.
I received a phone call from my insurance company this afternoon, informing me that even though I had been with their company for more than twelve years, my policy was being dropped because the underwriters had decided I was “high risk”, considering the fact that I’d been ticketed for driving without a seatbelt not once, but twice during the last three years; after hanging up the phone, I realized that what I had just experienced was, in fact, nothing short of an act of terrorism on their part, which, of course, wouldn’t have been covered by my policy anyway.
Billy put his flowerpot hat firmly on his head and walked out to face the brand new day.
Becky watched the swirling, shifting colours on her arm as they changed from pink to red to violet to green to blue and back again, and then she reached forward and gently removed both of her forearms, her left leg, her right ear and half of her tail and placed them all in the top her reverberating skull.
“I’m a princess, ” she reminded herself, with a minimum of conviction, “a princess who grew up in a blackberry patch near Seattle, who’s never so much as set a tennis shoe in the nation where her royal blood was formed, a princess who doesn’t know diddly squat about princessing, a princess who’s behaved like a twit and a twat; who’s been, well, disappointed in men and romance, who’s a bit confused, who’s got a lot to learn, but a princess, after all; just as fucking much as Caroline or Anne, and although in the last quarter of the twentieth century the very idea of royalty may seem artificial, archaic, and somewhat decadent, I insist on my princess-hood because without it I’m just another physically attractive woman with the I-went-to-college-but-it-didn’t-do-me-any-good look and nothing much more to offer anyone.”
After watching the latest news broadcast, I was relieved to hear that Planned Parenthood had decided not to use “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” as a theme song.
“You know, that would stop if you’d just quit getting Herpes.”
Excuse me, but as king of this castle, it is my inherent right to be the designated tractor driver.
The thermostat reported 71 degrees (F), but Brach was certain he was freezing to death.
At first Bif thought it was funny that the Boy Scout troop had filled his car with popcorn from their fundraiser, but he wasn’t laughing so hard after he realized it was trained attack popcorn.
As inspired by: one of the (now lost) comments to a sentence moved over from old scrine
If I were a song-writer, I would write a song entitled “Hooray for Scrine”.
everyone had their own ideas of what it should be like, but communicating those ideas proved more difficult.
The Walrus may have been Paul, but the Lion was definitely Jesus.
The supposedly mature-aged woman rocked her boots along the path, singing and humming loudly to herself with the occasional funky outburst of “very superstitious!” until she turned the corner and nearly walked right into a very young and very, very bemused man coming the other way.
Funny, everyone else has long since moved on and here I am still sitting in the empty house.
Ninety percent chance of showers; 100% chance of freaky-ass, sci fi-looking wild mushrooms.
The albatross looked down at the empty ocean nearly 3000 feet below her and thought, “This cramp in my wing is going to be the death of me.”
Listen here, bub, I’m all for hobos and the hobo way of life, so call me a hobophobe just one more time, you and I will have to step outside… once the train stops, of course.
Gorgo’s glandular troubles were never openly discussed by the other giants.
“I have no regrets about Turning Japanese [link removed],” Henry told his boss, “other than my lips will no longer be in synch with the words, although come to think of it, yours never have been either.”
Okay, to the practical joker who turned off the one set of bathroom lights in the third-floor mens room, leaving on only the set that’s connected to the fan which is on a timer (which flipped off thirty seconds into my, um, business) leaving the room pitch black, that wasn’t funny.
When Nola told the ducks they could move in until after the bird flu epidemic had passed, she had no way of knowing just how much time they would spend in the bathroom.
“01:02:03 04/05/06” was to be the title of the post, carefully crafted to pop up at the right moment, but I was foiled in my plans by localization settings weirdness (I was apparently in London and didn’t know it) and failure to check “daylight savings time.”
Gerry discovered, much to his surprise, that if you distractedly type “ABBA” into your iTunes jukebox search field, crank up “Dancing Queen” to ear-shattering volumes, and sing merrily along, the next song which comes up on random play is not “Mamma Mia” or “Chiquitita” but is instead “War Pigs” by Black Sabbath.
As I have mentioned several times today, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross can kiss my ass.
My duck-bots will have better weapons than yours.
Yeah pal, I’m ready for whatever you’ve got, I started my day with a double rainbow and a sun shower, so do your worst.
The history books will tell you that I come from a long line of highwaymen, cutthroats and thieves, and that before even then the men made their living off the sweat of other men’s brows, as pirates or shangaiers or some other unsavory enterprise, and the books might even mention that the women I descend from, those fair creatures who in so many families are like beacons of hope in a dark night, shining and guiding their families to better days the way a lighthouse might steer a ship away from rocky shores, were in my family, in fact, as bad as the men, and in many instances, even worse.
I was sure that my muse had left me for good until she appeared at my door late last night asking for some of my special brownies.
Johnny’s classmates now knew that the pen was mightier than the sword after bearing witness to his self-impalement with the pen in his back pocket.
At work, I sometimes wish that my time there was measured in dog years.
June told her doctor about the terrible night sweats she’d been having, being careful to leave out the part about waking up and finding cat hair stuck to her.
“In the initial prep phase, dieters banish bad foods including sugar, high fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated fats, junk food, alcohol and caffeine. ”
Why is there a half-empty bag of potatoes sitting next to my toilet, and where did the trash can go?
As inspired by: 'mouse's Nope, nada, no way, no how
Caffeine is not a bad food; it is a goddamn work of art.
“You should have said something earlier, Gorgo,” Gilbabreath said, gently releasing the man back down onto the moss-covered rocks, then taking a small, giant-step backwards so he could get a proper look at the man, “because I was just about to take bite out of you.”
Deceased Popular Science editor, James Sloughterly, was not surprised to learn that there would be no hover cars in the afterlife either.
“You are all weirdos!”
Beer or coffee?
At the age of thirty-seven she knew she’d found forever, as she rode along through Paris with the warm wind in her hair …
As inspired by: "Don't fuck with love"
first you said i wouldn’t need a dime in m pocket to be here, now i need quicktime and the april fool’s day download and all kind of stuff on that top shelf in the kitchen that you know i can’t quite reach. without getting dizzy.
This morning’s contribution to scientific exploration involves the sampling of a new type of cinnamon roll; I have entered the standard cinnamon roll hypothesis in my ledger.
If you look up the word “dejection” in the dictionary, you will find that depression is crap.
Bob hadn’t returned to his old neighborhood in years but was reminded why he left when he saw that Mrs. Klein was still sporting her 1960’s style bouffant.
The contest would have gone poorly had I not won.
If someone has one of those Back to the Future DeLoreans handy, could you please stop by 1976 and pick me up a cold six-pack of RC Cola?
This afternoon, I will attempt to recreate this morning’s cinnamon roll experiment, noting the effects of time and exposure to air on sugar-soaked bread, paying special attention to how this relates to the overall human experience.
Edward put the first lump in the top filing cabinet drawer and the second lump in the wooden chest, but the last little piece was reverentially laid in a curved, bronze cigar box.
Taking things for granted is all too easy, and having grown up in a place where I’ve seen the beautiful giant that is the Red Kangaroo and many other amazing mammals, I just wanted to state categorically that I’m grateful to have witnessed, experienced and even occasionally touched such beauty.
“And now class, let’s give our special attention to Timmy’s father, who has been kind enough to come in today and talk to us about growing old, bald and fat.”
My heart is a plastic explosive filled with sawdust and wire.
Memory is so vague, so fragile, so questionable, yet I am sure I can still clearly see that silhouette of him, the first time i met him, standing in the doorway, behind the cheap flyscreen, looking so tall, so elegant, so much like the man who would and has changed my life for all eternity.
Homo Sapiens is one confused monkey, always striving to invent and create and change the world when all that is really necessary for human happiness has already been discovered and perfected.
“I’ve got my eye on you,” she warned him; he responded by crying “Eurrrgh!” and frantically brushing off his jacket sleeve.
My son has obviously mutated and grown a caffeine organ, and from the sound of him, I’m almost sure it’s leaking.
By the end of her life she was quite smug she’d invested in the rider on her Life Policy that returned to her all the hours she had spent watching bad movies and crappy TV.
Jim was quite sure he’d live forever, or at least ninety or so years.
It was Timmy’s incurable case of misshapen head that led to his love of hats.
As inspired by: Jo's Also, the Traffic Jam Minutes
Jim, having read the latest study which proved that every minute spent walking adds one minute to your life, experienced a great epiphany about this fountain of youth, got up off the couch, tied on his sneakers and headed down the street, feeling good, feeling strong, hearing the chirp of the birds, smiling at the first tulips of spring, his step light and full of hope; he never saw the bus.
She realized, as he was talking, that not only did she not understand a word his mouth uttered as it moved, but that all she could picture was the pen in her hand jammed into his ear as far as it would go.
I know you’re going to say I should have already found the bathroom trash can and gotten rid of that old sack of potatoes next to the toilet, but then what would Barncat have peed on after charming his way into the house this morning?
“I wouldn’t call it an obsession,” Henry told his fiancée as he loaded the shovels into the trunk, “but more of a hobby.”
That evening, sensing her husband actually had no intention of hitting the gym like he’d said, she got in her car and began a circuitous loop through town, past every local bar she knew; and when, at the sixth bar (around back), she saw his distinctive Ford pickup, she sat there for an indeterminate length of time, abstractedly watching her fingers trembling on the steering wheel, wondering how her life had come to this pass.
If the streets of Heaven end up being paved with gold, I can’t help but wonder if shoe rental will be required, like when you go bowling.
“Did you floss today?” she asked her therapist, desperately trying to change the subject.
Being a gambling man, Jeff got out of bed.
Although the whole robot sex industry continued to grow and flourish, Henry still preferred his sex the old-fashioned way - seldom.
As Henry cast his penny into the fountain, he wished that once—just once!—he would be the subject of a sentence that didn’t make him sound deviant or pathetic or both.
Everyone had a very nice time at Henry’s birthday party—everyone except Henry, that is.
Although he wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting, June found herself secretly attracted to the new Piano Man.
I keep thinking that I’ve written a sentence about bipolar bears, and that the sentence involves some sort of witty wordplay, like I’ve written about a new kind of bear that no one has ever heard of that’s not a polar bear, but a bipolar bear, and because of this play on words, the sentence ends up being very interesting and even a little funny; this, of course, is not that sentence.
I should take a cup of coffee and walk to the back of the property to see the pear blossoms before they drop, past the barn and through the nursery, maybe stopping along the way to see if the killdeer eggs have hatched, knowing I’m almost guaranteed a smile watching the mother and father killdeer limp along ahead of me, pretending they’ve broken their wings.
The guy next to me on the Subway was reading a book that proudly proclaimed to be “the Number One Bestseller on Fasting.”
The terror that once lurked only in shadows and in the far reaches of people’s darkest thoughts, now sensed the world’s growing apathy and began its long, slow crawl into the light.
Donna and her husband’s long-delayed verbal confrontation, when at last it happened, was not as nasty as a television drama would have produced it; then again, the rustle and snap that punctuate household lies cannot be heard aloud, even by the best of microphones.
I know it’s nothing to be proud of, but it’s beginning to look like my seven month collection of unopened mail and bills will turn out to be a complete set, which makes the accountant in me happy in that strange, anal, cross-your-i’s-and-dot-your-t’s sort of accounting way.
Although Bob considered his own mother rather thick-skinned, he’d not once thought that eating the outer layer would make a nutritious meal.
As much as Prig enjoyed killing missionaries and adding their heads to his shrunken head necklace, he never had acquired much of a taste for them in stew, although this, he sometimes thought, might have something to do with Prog’s heavy hand with the salt.
The ground dove up and down in huge, deep pits of anxiety, throwing clusters of giraffes and banana plantations aside as if they were feathers, racing along in waves after the diminunitive and sparkling creature that flitted gently away into the distance.
Any time I feel the least bit down about working too hard I just consider the image of the accountant across the hall brushing his teeth in the office sink this morning after last night’s all-nighter, facing the prospect of four more between now and midnight Monday, April 17.
Marrying into a female cat, for someone who has always had male cats, is surprisingly easy.
As inspired by: steve's a wish
As Henry turned morosely away from the fountain he noticed a little girl run into the street chasing after a bright yellow ball, he turned back only to see a large truck jack-knifing across the street towards her and, without stopping to think of his own life, he leapt boldly across the road, swept up the girl, rolled both of them safely under the truck and came to a stop in front of what appeared to be her terrified, wealthy-looking and grateful parents, who exclaimed “you saved our Jasmine, how can we ever repay you?!”
Kat whistled a tuneless happy melody and even skipped a little in anticipation as she rounded the corner toward the bakery where she would buy a fresh jelly-filled donut and a cup of coffee.
Kathy recalled that all of her life’s problems began around the time she had attempted (and not succeeded) to flush her baby brother down the toilet.
Sometimes even a handful of chocolate-covered espresso beans won’t overcome the the need for an afternoon nap; they will, however, lead to vivid dreams.
The question on everyone’s mind, at least those who knew what was going on (the beer drinking, the language barrier, the distance still to drive, etc.), was not whether Todd could design and bid the job within the next sixty minutes (because most assuredly, he had already done that on many occasions, many times over) but whether he could sell the job within the next hour, and even more importantly, whether he would walk away with a signed check and a trusting customer.
“The tattoo on my leg says, “Each night Tansy would practice drowning”…the first line of my novel, in my handwriting…my way of making a commitment to the book before I sent it out into the world: (n)o matter what happens with it now, good or bad, it’s part of me.”
or is… no, it is just me.
“This year I’m giving up gravy for Lent,” Jacob told his wife, “but only dinner gravy, mind you, not my breakfast gravy; Jesus wouldn’t want that.”
Looking back, Kathy remembered clearly holding no rancor for her baby brother; it simply happened that she had been interested in where toilet water goes after it leaves the tank, and she felt sure that little Henry could take a peek down there and report back to her.
I have five phone numbers, four telephones, a palm pilot, and access to the worldwide web through my two computers and a laptop … and yet, there’s nobody I can effectively hire, by phone or e-mail, to come out and stop this stupid rain.