included jacuzzi’s and massages, and a single key lime mohito, and a new pair of maui jims and a silver two piece that you could see through when wet: texas redfish: pears, strawberries, melons and mangoes (what does your favorite vacation involve?)
what sort of fancy tricks that the average passing dancing bear would do for my puff pastry.
Henry was surprised to learn that Heaven had no recycling program, at least not in the traditional sense, and that everyone just threw their trash over the edge, where it would fall down to Earth and turn into people.
The last fifteen minutes of my day in this office are so beautifully quiet, they nearly make up for the airport-level noise that went before.
“Hey there beautiful girl, don’t you change, honey, because you is beautiful the way you are,” said the homeless man as I walked to the PATH train tears hidden behind my rhinestone encrusted sunglasses; I couldn’t help smiling since it was the nicest thing I’d heard all day when he called after me, “And don’t you worry, honey, I’ll be here tomorrow to make you smile again.”
Suddenly the scales fell from Beatrice’s eyes, and she whipped off her apron, set the pile of breakfast specials on the counter, struck a dramatic, showstopping posture (complete with “glad hands”) and threw her head back to proclaim NOW! NOW IS THE TIME!
If I am ever accidentally happy on the job again, I’ll probably mistake my new lightness of being for acid indigestion; ferociously chewing Rolaids tablets, I will skulk around the office for a week or two until the feeling passes.
To Wallace the word “epiphany” always sounded the same—and presumably travelled the same happy neurological path in his brain—as “a panty raid.”
Wassa plural of Guinnessesesi?
… and Nashi pears wait seductively behind every corner.
As inspired by: microkat's Blah
banana.
… said Michael, as he took another sip from his beer, “it was just one of those moments that instead of finding yourself wishing things would change, you realise that you are finally going to make things change” and as he put down his beer, he started to smile, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.
therefore a sentence needed to be said: so i dug out my Sentence Skills, A Workbook for Writers and found notes from students past, ones who apparently got much farther into the course than did I; and this is what the sentence said:
I left for work early, and I forgot to bring my wallet (and scribbled just marginally and much smaller- ‘ but the trees in the yard were on fire’.
It just so happened that a few select people in the diner, one man over there, one at another table, two or three women at the corner table near the kitchen, all had dreamed of this moment, and rose from their greasy eggs as one, to join the waitress in her Vision of the Dance.
Stop the earth, I wanna get off.
“I’m big-boned,” the rock told the boy, “so don’t waste your time trying to skip me, but if you want to give me a toss, I’m pretty good at breaking glass.”
Jennifer had always wondered what to do with that single, lovely, red, rainbow-edged sock.
My original sentence (Apparently I still have typing skills, but sadly, I seem to have lost my ability to string words together.) suddenly seemed too pathetic to send out alone, and what it needed, or so I thought, was something silly to accompany it along the way, like a Big Stan grin, or something about ducks (maybe talking ducks), or even something about the size of my head, because the mood is always lightened when accompanied by a joke about a big, mishapen head (unless you’re watching The Elephant Man and don’t want to be called a jerk for making fun of someone else’s problems, which of course will only last so long and not long afterwards you’ll find yourself saying in your best Elephant Man voice, “I am not an animal,”), and so, what I came up with was this: “I am not an animal,” the duck said to the rest of the paddling in his best Elephant Man voice, flashing a Big Stan grin at the nearest hen, who, it should be noted, merely quacked something that sounded an awful lot like, “Jerk.”
‘I must never speak of this.’
The first time Henry fell out of a plane, it literally scared the crap right out of him, but then he woke up and realized it had all been just a dream (well, the falling out of the airplane part, anyway).
Now that I know the word “higgler”, I hope to use it as often as possible.
Why does this word look like grated onion stew?
Beaucoup de bières!
Where did all these DOG people come from?
“Sure Truth got picked last for all those pick-up games,” answered the old geezer, “but don’t go blamin’ us for anything; it couldn’t hit worth shit.”
Take two or more avowed existentialsists, pound relentlessly with a figurative meat tenderizer, discard the lumpy parts and strain out and discard all remaining pulp, and then, lastly, discard the bitter juices that are all that remain.
what sort of fancy tricks that the average passing dancing bear would do for my puff pastry.
Henry mostly hung out with Scrine because the big rusty bird was on the featured ExpressionEngine site list, which Henry mistook for fame.
My, the ivy grows fast in here, doesn’t it?, Bronwyn thought; at that moment an angel, clad in a grubby pair of corduroy slacks and a Descendents t-shirt, smelling of Drum tobacco and Coca-Cola, and bearing a disconcerting resemblance to the surly guy behind the counter at Kim’s Underground, materialized, smacked her across the face with a rolled-up Penzeys Spices catalog, and hollered, “You have to cut this shit out and rejoin the fucking party RIGHT NOW.”
Boot looked at the mainstream values sales man in disbelief, ‘So all I need to do to get the free gift is to watch an episode of Big Brother or read a romance novel… couldn’t you make it something simple like bamboo sticks under the fingernails?’.
The graceful creature sauntered away from the incandescent pyre, seemingly oblivious to the sounds of screams and sirens.
This headache has its own address and phone number, but I’ll be damned if I’m footing the bill for rent and utilities.
You wouldn’t believe how many people call me because they think their sprinkler system is broken, when the only problem is that the water isn’t turned on.
Minimalist Jones, it turns out, could not hold a note,
Or so said his neighbors in the complaints that they wrote;
“It’s all in your head, I’ve committed no crime,
Close your windows,” he would sing, “and stop wasting my time.”
There is no situation that cannot be improved with chocolate, Christine concluded.
By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spellbound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on at him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea. [From Wind in the Willows]
“Whether you get away or whether you don’t; whether you arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at all, you’re always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and when you’ve done it there’s always something else to do, and you can do it if you like, but you’d much better not.” [from Wind in the Willows]
I’d give away ten years for one good look at me as a boy, sitting in that rowboat with my grandma and brother, the green paint faded and peeling, all of us dangling our poles over the edge into water so clear you could watch the nightcrawler wiggling on the hook just inches from the bottom of the lake, while the bluegills circled, curious, getting closer and slower with each successive pass until finally one would bite and that red and white bobber would dance like mad, popping in and out of the water, the ripples breaking the reflection of a clear blue Minnesota sky.
there just isn’t any point to it anymore, they no more want me than i want them so why be bound with non-existent bindings, i’m simply quitting my family as of today.
Thank you, and, if you would, a round of applause for my lovely assistant poodle, Jippie.
I like my vitamins like I like my men: orange, fizzy, and easy to swallow.
Unbeknownst to the intrepid adventurers, Fate would abruptly end their journey - Fate, in this case, in the guise of a dour Golf Widow doll on the ajoining desk; hooking a nearby pad of sticky notes with her bloody 9-iron, she proceded to write a note that caused the two of them to be nabbed next morning, just inside the copyroom door.
One wonders who thought a 48-ounce jar of green olives was an office necessity.
As inspired by: boot's one
for some reason scrine is unable to receive my comment at this time, so i here submit the next move; please to continue.
Henry was jolted awake when a pair of oak trees held him down on the bed, and a third carved its initials into his forehead, shouting, “How do you like it?”
Some called it humorous, others just plain ironic, that it was human error that had led to the diode mixup at the robot army assembly plant, a small error that went largely unnoticed until it came time for the robots to march in unison, which it turns out, they couldn’t, and which, some said, embarrassed the robots, which of course, in hindsight, now seems ridiculous, because of course the robots weren’t actually capable of experiencing this particular sensation, although as it also turns out, they had been properly assembled and programmed for anger, frustration, and hostile take over, which wasn’t quite as humorous once the war started, but did, at least, allow the overthrow of humans to be quick and cost-effective.
Adulthood isn’t the spangly party-place we thought it would be, back when we spied on it through red plastic binoculars from across the gulf of age and autonomy; it can be a downright trecherous land, where sometimes our compatriots fall into pits of despair, and there’s little we can do to help.
The odd little girl called Abraham Jones,
Was popular amongst the town’s cicerones,
“She’s allergic to flip phones, make a call and you’ll see
That she’ll puff up just like she’s been stung by a bee,”
So the tourists would dial and fill the air with ringtones,
Just to watch Abraham swell around her thin little bones.
Having found a previously unknown secondhand book by one of her favoured, but now deceased, authors, Rosa read so voraciously for the next two days that people would bump into her book-wielding form as she walked waveringly down the street.
Henry was surprised to find himself thinking less and less about her tattoo.
Sometimes Johnathon could feel it all slipping away, see it only at a distance, sense the world as if he were in a bubble, and he felt that one day the terrible feeling of disconnection would not stop and he would be trapped under the glass, like some taxidermist’s exhibit, endlessly and without hope of salvation.
The spirals of colour wound up and down Becky’s arms, spurring under, over and through her skin, and as they sparked and clashed, feathers, bells and miniature castles sprouted from her pores.
“Abubakar, you stop trying to entomb your sister and get in this pyramid this instant!”
“My life is completely devoid of drama,” Wendy observed, “just the way I like it.”
“Abubakar, if you’ve locked Okpara in the natron pit again, I will have your father feed you to the jackals when he gets home tonight.”
I need to stop leaving my supplies of poisoned raw meat in the sock drawer.
“How many times did I tell you, Abubakar, ‘Marry a strong girl, someone like Heqet - a strong back, baby-bearing hips that’d turn Ra’s head, and a good, steady job down at the canopic jar plant’ - but no, you couldn’t listen to your poor, old mother, not once, could you?”
You could think of me as an average guy, lost somewhere between appropriate and innappropriate; you might also want to imagine me needing a shave.
By nightfall, almost all of the flies were dead, their corpses scattered like raisins throughout the house.
I’ve just heard from a reliable source that God will stop answering prayers on June 3, 2009, and the reason, if you really must know, is that this will be the day that he downloads a new ringtone for his cellphone called The Human Condition, and upon hearing it, realizes he has been duped and loses all hope.
I suppose the main reason the NRA and the penis enlargement folks don’t team up is because it just doesn’t sound right to say: You can have my small penis when you pry it from my cold, dead hands.
In a way, this fact is indicative of all that disappoints me about adulthood: when I eat nothing but desserts for dinner, I really pay for it later.
“One eye alone would serve me just right,”
Minimalist Jones would say when asked about sight;
“Just one in the middle, right over my nose,
Solving the problem of where my monocle goes.”
“Abubakar, stop slouching and walk like an Egyptian.”
Funny that in my dictionary the only thing separating promiscuous from Promised Land is a simple little promise.
I’m sometimes afraid they’ll discover that lying is the thing that is actually destroying the ozone, in which case, we really are screwed.
“Mom, Abubakar’s sticking scarabs up his nose again!”
D b, e-s 1 b-z b.
Boot glanced guardedly beneath her solicitous Scrine at the befuddling, bemusing and abstruse admixture of alphabetical articluates and was stunned speechless.
Last night I dreamed I was fighting a rabid skunk.
is posted a job listing for an art teacher at an elementary school just three miles from my house, on this the last day of the in-district transfer period, and i figure that some kind fellow has just bettered herself while simultaneously moving out of my way just as if i’d planned it all.
Somewhere along the way my dream life became more believable than my waking life, which doesn’t bother me much as long as I stay asleep.
Asparagam stood, staring off into space, a tear running down his chlorophyll-stained face.
Gods turn into angels, angels turn into people, people turn into dirt which the worms burrow through, dreaming of gods, beginning the process all over again.
There was a time, I imagine, when an anthropologist could get away and escape his work, but those languid days, I’m afraid, have long since passed.
Do you think Coyote will be angry when she wakes up from her refreshing little siesta on my couch to find that she’s sporting a rather fine looking black sharpie Van Dyke?
when you live down wind from a turkey processing plant, you’ve just got to burn a lot of incense.
In another life I was a real mother; no, not that kind, the other one.
When walking between work and the bus in an industrial area wearing totally respectable work style heels… prepare yourself for the question, ‘how much?’
This man walks into a bar on Mother’s Day and finds himself perched on a barstool between an alligator who’s obviously had too much to drink and a born again Christian woman
The blue, yellow and white tea-towel fluttered its message in the cold, early morning breeze, though stretched tight against the fence as it was, it snapped occasionally when it met the resistance of the cable ties; whoever this Ania was, I hoped she was okay.
Looking at the swollen, amber, cloud-streaked, and unimaginably colossal moon, Desree couldn’t help but wonder why there weren’t more religions devoted to the worship of the moon.
I swore I heard grumbling in here.
how come everybody is so quick and helpful with the directions?
As inspired by: Duck Poem, by Leunig
And your achievement towers like a smoking chimney stack, There’ll be a quack and right there at your feet, A little duck will stand.
Minimalist Jones would hardly ever sleep,
Which isn’t saying he couldn’t;
“Lying down just wastes so much space,
That it feels like maybe I shouldn’t.”
I set a twelve-hour pot roast to slow cook this morning, but I should have put in my contact lenses first because now I’m not sure if my fingertips touched those chipotles or not.
I write this sitting in the kitchen sink.
The farmer should try to remember that he is not so unlike his urban counterpart, the average working class stiff, considering the fact that both of them often find themselves dealing with someone else’s shit on an almost daily basis.
There are few experiences in life that exceed the wonder of being six years old and finding the tooth fairy has come in the night and magically slipped money under your pillow.
Peering out from their bedroom door, the children giggled as Santa chastised their parents for bad behavior.
Inspired by Boot’s One (and the other meme-ish/playful sentence posts) and my own Wonder
I’ll start at 0+a few minutes—all the other years are up to y’all, in order or not, as you wish, from your own memories, what you’ve observed in others, wished, or just made up: 0.01 = Thumbsucking
I have quite a bit of office work to catch up on today, or I’d for sure be down by the tracks, watching the hobo parade.
Last night I flew out to the east coast to share an excellent pot roast dinner with Steve and his wife (with potatoes, I might add, and by this I naturally mean the dinner, of course, because it would be silly to say that Steve’s wife is “with potatoes”, although now that I’m thinking about it, I bet a woman who could give birth to potatoes would be pretty popular with the men, once word got around).
I’ll admit that the headline, Monkeys Use Sentences, Study Suggests, caught my eye, but not without also admitting that the first thing that came to mind was: Oh good, new Scrine members!
Once the notion takes hold of you that you may have just met a woman capable of giving birth to potatoes, you have little hope of stopping the whirlwind of unexplainable behaviours you will find yourself engaged in over the course of the next 24 hours, which in my case, meant waking up this morning in Oregon and realizing that I had somehow just bought a house right next door to Steve and his wife…. and their pot roast.
Grapple (that’s Grape-L) has got to be the weirdest thing ever; shame I didn’t think of it first.
“The idea, Keith, is that you and I will travel around the country together eating pot roast, writing about the places we see and the people we meet along the way, as well as any thoughts or insights we might have about the pot roast, which we’ll then publish as a coffee table book.”
I don’t speak any Spanish, but sometimes I use phrases like el perro gigante! just to seem more cultured than I actually am.
“You do have the gift of BSing,” he told me urgently, “The problem is: you’ve got standards, and you really just need to let them go die someplace already.”
In every single culture I’ve ever studied, the one common thread that seems to run throughout them all is this: Stare at a man long enough and he will eventually feel the need to punch in the nose.
Now that they’ve opened that new Apple store down on Fifth Avenue, which is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, I’ll probably be spending most of my time down there because I’m sure they’ll be needing someone who doesn’t mind sitting in the last seat at the “45-foot Genius Bar”.