The representative from Florida has once again illustrated for us that the brains of Republicans are wired differently—wrongly—and the only solution for such people is to lock them up, cut their balls off and keep them away from all positions of responsibility.
When all other decent avenues have been cut off, it’s time to apply paint to paper; of course, if there are indecent avenues, they must be pursued first.
“Hermie, you are the most fashionable person I know.”
If you saw my desk, you’d probably put a bullet through your head, but if you knew what was in all those envelopes, I’m guessing you’d put down that gun and go looking for something more painful, like a screwdriver or a brick.
Have mercy; kill me now.
comes like rain into the brain that feigns normalcy, and you might’ve thought being chased by men with chainsaws would put some perspective on it.
“…and children, you might not believe me when I tell you this, but there was actually a time before ogres and sparkle dwarves, before even talking bears and the whispering forest, and yes, even a time before we giants came to be; now, now, calm down, that was a long time ago and will never happen again, you children don’t need to worry your pretty big heads about that.”
“I like to think we’re becoming pretty good friends, Mr. Anderson, so, maybe we’ll have a beer some time, catch a game, or, maybe you can just loosen these cuffs a little.”
“Timothy Alan Johnson, you stop touching that witch this instant and march yourself inside and wash those hands!”
Buddy patiently kept his eyes open for the woman of his secret dreams - a lady of refinement, education, and keen wit, with whom his domestic life could be the psychological equivalent of an ear-punishing jackhammer; at last he did find her, of course, and they dated in agony for many years until it seemed as if he might finally learn an important life lesson, and break away from this torture of his own design - but luckily instead, she agreed to marry him.
I know my dog eats cat shit, but I try to ignore it, since I also happen to know that it’s his sarcastic attempt to make fun of my life.
Having not drunk any alcohol for nearly 20 hours, Juan found himself staggeringly lucid and vowed to foreswear sobriety and remedy this unpleasant turn of events at the earliest possible moment.
I wear this itchy and uncomfortable cloak of normalcy for the benefit of my wife and children… that and I might get arrested if I went around flaunting my naked personality.
“Mom, why did the crows burn down the hospital after I was born - was it because of the nuns?”
As I stood in line at the IRS office today, patiently waiting to drop off an envelope for my good friend, Mr. Anderson, I was fortunate enough to overhear the story of a man who will very soon have employment tax troubles much worse than I can even imagine, a secretary’s dull “huh?” as she is told by another secretary that she has just hit the wrong key and lost all of her computer’s data, and one entire half of a painfully loud cellphone conversation, in which a bony young Hispanic woman eating Cheetoes tells her (boyfriend? husband? it is never exactly revealed) that she is still waiting, and that she would have gotten here earlier, that the baby was ready and in the car, but that dad yelled, “I’m downloading!”, which the bony girl obviously felt the need to reenact at full volume, which then caused her mother, who was sitting next to her, to hush the girl in an even louder voice, just moments before stealing the bag of Cheetoes.
There is a moment of pure joy in getting paid in cash… which quickly evaporates when one realizes that it’s all gonna be properly reported.
Although he was faced once again with tapping out each of those 50,000 words one letter at a time with his stylus, Robert was excited to get started on the annual ritual of spending the month of November in spastic novel writing hurriedness.
If my waist grows any larger, I’m going to lodge an official complaint.
“Mortality sucks, but the alternative sucks worse,” mused Jonathon as he tried to decide where he’d have lunch on this, his 276th birthday.
Henry slowly stirred the pot of happiness, hoping he’d followed the recipe properly, so that he’d end up with that thick, chewy, rich-tasting, taffy-like emotion he could chew on all day.
I sometimes worry that I’ll tip over and die right here on the spot without any warning, but what I really worry about, if you must know, is that there will be unanswered questions in my coroner’s report, which will note things such as: … based on examination of the body, subject has been dead 24-32 hours, yet examination of the cat’s litter box would suggest subject has been deceased for at least ten days, if not more.
With Baudelaire now in the carriage, I knew there was no turning back, and pulled closed the door.
The Bible does not speak of good dim sum in heaven, therefore Christianity doesn’t appeal to me even a little bit.
Apparently, if you write the word ‘beer’ on a piece of paper where beer is not an option, beer shall then magically appear.
It rotated silently in the air above her head, menacing in a totally unconsidered way.
Imagine a perfect world where we would all just admit that deep down inside we are all gay, alcoholic Republicans with “behavior problems” caused by our youthful buggering by the Roman Catholic Church - kumbaya.
Becky slammed the doors wide open and strode outside to stand under the sunlight, fiercely wielding handfuls of rainbows as she searched the streets for the gravy of sadness.
How the sun shone so brightly as I wiped the dirt and cobwebs off and I jumped into writing yet again.
When Judy denied the fact that she took things too literally, Henry gently reminded her of the time she over-reacted when he’d told her how he wanted to pamper her.
“Will you hold me while I lick my feet?”
Down the street from my office, a cheery sign near the brand-new housing development reads, “If you lived here, you would be home by now”, despite evidence that no suburbanites in their right mind really want to live this close to where they work.
Minimalist Jones once came down with a cold
And was laid up for weeks, or so I am told;
His head was quite stuffy, his eyes runny and red
So his daughter, little Abraham, sent him straight to his bed,
Where he coughed and he sputtered and blew his sore nose
And built a mountain of tissues, I hear, which was quite grandiose,
And his sneezes, they say, could be heard for twelve blocks,
And came out so hard they would blow off his socks.
H.O.N.D.A.: Hey, only noisey dickheads allowed!
Would this be the wrong time to mention that I was born in a Honda?
I was surprised at how good having a scrine magnet on my refrigerator feels.
Off and on today I’ve wondered (but not in too much detail) how a person even develops a vomit fetish; it’s one of those things that the more you think about it, the more impossible and unreal it seems.
I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace. **
At first Joe thought he was smart to learn not to be ticklish, but later he mourned the loss.
It’s true - God thinks saying “carp bait” is the worse thing a man can do - ask him yourself.
I think, therefore you are not.
Hefting this fist-sized rubber band ball here on my desk, I am oddly comforted by its potential as a weapon.
“Yes, Bobby, people die in Heaven just like they do here on Earth, because if they didn’t, there wouldn’t be enough room up there for all those angels to fly around and one of them would end up hurting a wing or something and that would make God mad.”
My new favorite thing in the whole world is when the fax machine beeps that it’s received an incoming fax and it turns out to be just a junk fax instead of bad news or more work.
Henry’s plan to have his sick friend Bob sneeze on his IRS papers before he gave them to the taxman may or may not have gotten the taxman sick, but it definitely turned into instant bad karma when Henry caught Bob’s cold.
… or at least spoke and then shamelessly promoted the link on Scrine.
Yes, you could easily eat them all at once, but isn’t it fun to eke them out, savouring just one or two a day, preserving that special violet delight until the desire becomes unbearable.
Without my thixotropic imagination, I don’t know what I’d do.
Imagination-wise, maybe it doesn’t sound so great, but then i’d bet thixotropitudinousness might be just the thing for a headcold, or a voice that can’t really croak out much more than that, or at the very least a diseased vocabulary.
if you believe in bloghosts, o scriners, c’mon, clap your keys!
“And have him eavesdropping on our every conversation,” Henry told his wife, “thanks but no thanks, we will not be naming that puppy Milhouse, and that’s final.”
Well, sure it doesn’t work any more, you idiot, it was one of Apple’s newest esoteric improvements.
Last night I dreamed, but in the dream I had to mouse over to a hotlink and double-click to launch the dream.
“Whimsy, fulcrum, seminole, scribe; awesome, winsome, reconcile, jibe,” recited the ghost as he hopped off the bus, leaving in his ectoplasmic wake a vague, frowning confusion.
I sure wish that Bureau of Patriotic Extravagance (or whatever it’s called) would do something about that whole King of Beers company - I mean, either make them say President of Beers, which after all, is much more patriotic, or, better yet, in the interest of national security (sure, why not) just give them a decent beer recipe.
G. recognized the familiar shadow of despair descending and this time she knew exactly how to drive it off.
I never know how long to search for missing software instruction manuals that I’m not even sure exist in the first place.
I’d rather give a speech in front of a thousand strangers than set foot in my high school reunion tomorrow night - but guess which one I stupidly signed up for?
Why has every human and animal I’ve ever allowed into my house felt the need to crowd me in bed?
I’m emerging from complete psychic immersion in pea soup.
Maybe money used to be about God, but I don’t think it is anymore, so I’m thinking about petitioning the U.S. Treasury to remove the words IN GOD WE TRUST from our money, and instead print the Latin phrase et sic de similibus, which I think means so we like things.
We don’t think much about being picked up once we’re adults, but maybe that’s only because there’s no one around actually big enough to pick us up.
The largest pumpkin at state fair may have been big, but it certainly wasn’t attractive as pumpkin’s go—and isn’t that always the way?
As a kid I used to fear the power of the devil, but luckily politics cured me of that.
I’m glad my skin isn’t as loose as the cat’s.
Checking his email, Henry thought Erections Like Steel!!!! sounded promising, until, that is, he thought about rust, and being the sensible man that he was, reluctantly hit the delete key.
Now that I’m getting better, I can once again smell the dog farts.
Mutsu is the king of apples!
That’s funny, but I could have sworn I said I was going to clean house today, but then maybe I only dreamt that.
I have no idea how my muscles could get so sore just from sleeping, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was from that dream where Other Keith was so sick and weak that he had to slide across the tile floor of the Mexican restaurant on his belly just to get to the bathroom so he could throw up, and I of course followed him, sort of amazed that he could slide like that so fast, and the bathroom was so big and huge, and people were coming in and out, both men and women, and then I realized that the bathroom was so big that it was also an entire office building with desks and computers and big plate glass windows and, of course, lots of people frowning at me because they weren’t too happy that Other Keith was throwing up in the only stall that was missing a door, but then he finished and we walked back out to our table where the food had been delivered while we were gone, only to find that an elderly man and woman were sitting at our table, sneakily eating our dinner, the woman looking over her shoulder after every bite to see if we were coming, so we instead went to his house where we only screwed up the entire Scrine site, messing it up so badly that coming here would only play a video of the opening credits of The Facts of Life, which I’m sorry to say, we thought was extremely funny and decided not to fix it for awhile.
“Well I’ll be damned, Doc, I could a swore you was goin’ to give me my money’s worth and stretch my neck from that there tree outside.”
Being common does not exclude extraordinary beauty.
They aren’t actually much truck as secrets until you realise someone else wants to know what you know.
The older I get, the more candy seems to taste like soap.
The older I get, the more I think the soap we had when I was young still tastes better than what passes for candy with you kids these days.
George wanted to write a sentence about giants on Scrine, but then he realized he had exceeded his daily allocation of periods.
apparently, my computer monitor is getting more sleep than i am.
What good is chin hair on a 40-year-old except to make her even more attractive than before?
Doyle studied the angel feather sticking out of his bran muffin, unsure of who to sue.
Juan walked down the street with a skip in his step, drinking in the newly crisp air, stepping on the first of the fallen leaves of the season – they would crunch so much more satisfactorily in just a few weeks – and he couldn’t help whistling cheerfully thinking about how he liked the almost tangible smell of change that was the essence of both spring and fall.
If I lived in a place where I never heard another siren, I would be happy.
In honor of John Prine’s birthday today, I simply must make my first link to the new and improved music player (which doesn’t work through AOL, but will work through a direct I/E window – or any real browser), “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore.”
I would enjoy knowing the ratios of girdles to women and sleeveless undershirts to men.
Finally, after several hundred generations, the banshee’s husband learned when to have dinner ready for her.
Today I left the house, glancing at the camera on the bench near the door and thought, “I won’t need that today,” shortly followed by the thought, “Damn, that’s one of the most stunning sunrises in months, and me here without my camera.”
There must have been a mixup at the watch shop yesterday, because this morning, I sure seem to be running on borrowed time.
Maybe only Pam can appreciate this, but I just read a spreadsheet which had me laughing so hard I actually fell out of my chair, it was such a ludicrous work of fiction.
Will someone please make it their family legacy to come to my grave and read to me?
For seven generations the Swenson family had been reading at the grave of Olaf Swenson, the family patriarch, and still no visible sign of appreciation.
It may surprise you to learn that a zombie can be made by reading a gothic romance novel alongside just about any grave; it usually only takes three or four chapters.
Old Swedes make excellent zombies, since they are both frightening and, because of their accent, kind of funny.
Decade upon decade, year upon year, the ghost of Olaf Swenson wished for the peace and wonderful quiet he’d spent his whole lifetime earning, but his damn descendents wouldn’t shut up long enough for him to enjoy it.
As inspired by: steve's make it stop
“Uff-da!”
To all you mothers-to-be: when you are sitting in the midst of your baby shower, and you open yet another box of those little one-piece baby outfits (bringing the count up to approximately 162), and the whole room full of women murmur - again - “oooooh, onesies, oooooh …”, the fact is, they are having an elaborate in-joke at your expense; no individual baby has needed that many onesies since the invention of the washing machine.
As inspired by: Pam's Bunny re: Pink Floyd
As one (except for one elightened soul), the fifth grade class exclaimed, “Ooh! Who is she? Does she have a video? Is she pretty?”
The firm, juicy, sweet looking thing beckoned in such a tempting manner that I deliriously replied “mango season!”
I’ll stop if I can, but I doubt I’ll be able to.
Hang on, that’s not how you spell my name…
I’ll stop Keith if I can, but I doubt I’ll be able to.
The planet’s earthworms had never been this angry before, at least never all at once, and now the ground shook under everyone’s feet, an impossibility it seemed on such an immense planet, and yet the slow, throbbing pulse that continued to grow day by day threatened to bring down everything around them if something wasn’t done to stop it.
“Boobs hurt; boys are so lucky!”
Edward used to think he was hungry like the wolf, but then Duran Duran came along and ruined that simile forever.
Laura had confirmed over the years that it was true what her mother told her—that if the sole of your foot itches, a trip is in your near future, and if your palm itches, you are about to receive some money—but try as she might, she could not figure out the signal that good news was about to arrive by mail.