Did you know there’s a Scrine for cats where instead of posting sentences they post interesting smells.
After reading the latest issue Wildcat, Henry knew he had to find the Nympho Gaucho of the Mato Grosso, no matter what the cost.
I want to be known as either “that woman with the Scrabble board” or “mad old Jock”.
All I want for breakfast is sauteed sugar snap peas with an orange-flavored compound butter, just so I can feel the gentle squeak of the pod breaking under my teeth, but since sugar snap peas are a good two months away, I have no choice but to wait.
By daylight she pumps me full of vitamins and advice as if to prolong my life but I know her dreams’ truth: she wants me and the deer both dead.
I used to say that I wanted to move to Arkansas just for the eggs, but that’s not true; I want to move to Arkansas for the eggs, the nectarines and the raspberries, all of which were unlike any I had ever eaten anywhere else, and none of which is currently in my fridge *right now*.
Thirteen-year-old Joey could never concentrate in his geometry class because the ‘cute angles and things lying congruant to each other (not to mention Miss Griffin’s beautiful spheres and curves) were far too distracting.
I learned this equation and, because it is true, I decided then and there not to become a math major in college.
“I want my next girlfriend to be a physicist, in the hope that someone who has devoted her life to the study of the universe might understand that she’s not the center of it.”
My boss does not want to hear of me feeling guilty for working on a project I really, really want to do.
Spring has been here a month, and I still have not killed a plant in my landscaping - a fact which pleases me, and absolutely thrills the plants.
When Fender’s mother was young, she was a member of cult until her parents had her professionally extracted; this, in Fender’s private opinion, began to explain her predilection for staying up late watching infomercials with all the doors locked except one.
I just typed a recipe headnote reading “the oats are ground in a food processor for 30 seconds,” only instead of “30 seconds,” I typed “36 hours.”
“Pies are *not* square!” shouted Dwight, throwing his textbook on the floor and running crying from the classroom, yelling as he slammed the door, “My mom’s a baker and she says they’re always round.”
There is a certain kind of pain that can only be eased by revenge.
In my world, I can easily imagine the grocery store selling 5 and 10 lb. sacks of Mr. Potato Heads.
Dear Admissions Office at BestLawSchoolEver University: Please be assured that had I known that the deadline for graduate housing applications was May 1—a fact that I could not find on your web page but did in fact find in the packet that was delivered to me today even though it was postmarked April 10—I would not have waited until the last week of April to send you a check; Signed with the deepest respect, etc., etc.
In the past three weeks I have replaced the batteries in three different cars and I still have one that won’t start due to a (presumptively) failing starter motor and another which won’t charge itself due to a (presumtively) failed alternator. (sigh)
The best thing about working from home is that every day is no pants day.
In a fit of pique over NAFTA, Rush Limbaugh punked Mexico.
Each time you move to a new city two things will hold true: your favorite radio station will change formats unexpectedly, and there will be more country stations then demographics demand.
She entered the atmosphere at a blazing speed and glanced off the planet before entering the sun’s gravitational field.
Skimming thru SOWPODS I don’t recognize about 75% of the words; one of us is stupid.
“I remember it tasting really really sweet… better than anything in the world—better than a mango even; I’d rather have lots of breastmilk than a million melons.”
Today on the “new arrivals” shelf at the library in addition to the usual Janet Evonovich, Walter Mosley, Stuart Woods and Alexander McCall-Smith offerings there were pulp mystery/thrillers prominently featuring both sudoku and knitting.
Becky and Miss Jane glared confusedly at each other from inside the barred room, each one wondering what the hell had gone wrong this time.
The bellyflop was legendary: perfectly executed with wide arms and legs, belly extended forward, and a huge displacement of water; but it was nothing like the famous Frog Hollow bellyflop of ‘78 of which there has never been another.
Playing Scrabble with the 8yo, she tries to play “dad,” I respond, “Are you sure you can’t do anything longer,” she thinks about 15 seconds and lays down “diamonds,” using all her tiles.
just now, the serendipity that is my entire life has produced for one perilous moment the perfect combination of elements, just this morning: little mee time-stepping, the little japanese girls swirling away to their merry accompaniment, a mardi gras indian costume standing stately, in my sketchbook.
She finally located the source of her hearing difficulties; a tiny man, dressed all in green, wedged stubbornly in her cochlea.
As they walked between identical two-story brick buildings that sat like islands in a black top sea, they began to despair that they would ever find their car.
At the risk of sounding like a boastful asshat, I’d like to advertise my services in case anyone needs anything defended (your honor, your right to party, your decision to stop bathing), because I’m currently batting 1.000 and, much like butter, am on a roll.
My cochlea’s WAY bigger than yours.
Her betrayal was like a hard kick to the Bundle of His.
As inspired by: Keith's The Anatomy of Betrayal
Chester found the only way to recover from a swift kick in the bundle of his was a languid weekend on the coast of the Isles of Langerhans eating hagus and drinking pints of hearty, robust ale.
Harold found that the clinical term for his condition - micropenis - did nothing to alleviate his depression especially when the young, fresh faced nurse - with the long legs and shapely calves- offered to take his temperature rectally.
As inspired by: Keith's The Anatomy of Betrayal
The Memorial Day Micropenis telethon was canceled when the steering committe was unable to secure a celebrity spokesman willing to champion the cause by emceeing the nights festivities.
I have cholera…I wonder if that is serious?
Most of the original scriners, now in their 70s and 80s, were eventually edged off of the popular website for their old-fashioned notions about punctuation.
As inspired by: You can call me, 'Sir''s to the victor…
all praise to the modest “sir,” who, it seems, slipped a successful thesis defense under our unsuspecting noses with nary a one, erm…suspecting.
Apparently moving all of one’s belongings across the country is really, really, really, really, really, really really expensive.
One terabyte of virgin drive labeled “musicserver” awaits its very first MP3, and yet I hesitate, trying to think of the appropriate “first.”
It’s good to see that I’m still #15; I had wondered whether I might have to replace my jersey.
The problem with being away from Scrine proper (not scriners) is that there’s always soooo much to catch up on when you return.
Beer might not heal all wounds, but it’s a pretty damn good bandaid.
“Oh, don’t listen to a word that man says.”
And then, suddenly, the sky burst with colour, great washes of pink and ribbons of blue, blurs of movement and energy.
“He had a long, somber face lined with more channels than the Brahmaputra, wide eyes that seemed on the verge of weeping, a nose sharp enough to cut nonsense, and a deferrential manner.”
The revolution doesn’t need a librarian.
Go ahead and try to eat a tamale from Trader Joe’s without comparing the filling to canned catfood.
My twenties are now like my virginity: happily lost forever never to be reclaimed.
“This whole menu looks edible” she exclaimed; in response he took a tentative bite and chewed one corner slowly and thoughtfully.
She learned many things that day, not the least of which were the price of 1000 marbles and the weight of a hundred bags of sawdust.
Two of them quit diet cola that week: one approached it like Sir Gawaine; the other like the dragon.
As inspired by: Jo's Red-Letter
Becky sighed the deepest of happy sighs and closed her eyes as she let the ocean of coloured glass gently roll her back and forth in time to the sound of her heart.
His neglect grew like an infection hidden beneath an unchanged bandage, and while he felt the its feverish attempt to grab his attention, it was much easier to simply ignore.
After eating her vitamins she belched fish oil all morning, which came in handy when she found she had to repel a small child who was too much in her face.
Iraq Dune Desert Planet the oil must flow.
Only a Brit would think a spotted dick is a good thing.
I prefer to think I’ a “sinnic”—one who sins, fully expecting it to work out badly.
A *real* Scrabble fanatic would have her words up well before 9am Australian time.
It was Dionne’s habit to order spicy glass noodle salad, “as spicy as it can be made,” from her Thai local; even though she knew that every sweet slippery tangy bowl of noodles and onions and seafood would be riddled with so many chile seeds that every mouthful would be agonizing, sending her rushing to the kitchen for cooling tablespoons of plain yogurt, she continued to order it this way, and to feel the pain, never worrying for one moment about her mental health; it was only when she realized that the dissipated chile heat left a powerful full-body erotic charge in its wake that she began to think that maybe, just maybe, she was something of a pervert.
They’re the homeless of the snail world.
No one had seen Peter’s briefcase since the missing banana incident, yet for some unexplainable reason, only Bobby, the doorman, ever considered that the two unfortunate events were related.
Luckily her preternaturally strong body odor had the scent of roses and led passers-by to sudden fits of longing.
Why wasn’t the dog barking at my armpits?
Finding yellow mustard in your fridge is always a happy occurrence, but finding yellow mustard greens never is.
I spend hours wondering how long it’ll take before I can form a Scrine-worthy sentence without some batshit science-related jargon screwing it up endoplasmic reticulum DAMN!
The next time I become immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead of us for the next 2 1/2 months, I will remember the job fair I was compelled to attend yesterday, and what a depressing, humiliating ordeal it was, and how thankful I am that that will not be my future after all.
When Juan (the lawyer) realized that Bronwyn (the baker) was developing a gluten intolerance and he was developing a distinct aversion to paper, he devised a plan to swap careers.
Nothing pisses off the popular media like a successful, contented gay man.
I made a fig, bourbon, and foie gras mousse; let it chill overnight; roll the mousse into little balls and briefly freeze ‘em; take some of our Port caramel sauce (that we use for our chocolate moltens) and dip the frozen foie mousse balls in the caramel, setting them on foil; refrigerate that so the caramel starts to harden—20-30 minutes; temper evil dark chocolate—this time the Extreme 85% from Chatelain’s; dip the caramel-coated foie balls in the chocolate using the tines of a fork to gently roll ‘em around to cover.
Hearing a strange noise, Little Bear looked up and saw a bird… no, not a bird, some kind of really noisy tin can, flying high overhead, and thinking the sky is a stupid place to put one’s garbage went back to watching the bees pollinating the blackberry flowers.
As inspired by: bakerina's At the top of the wish list
Have Dennis Hopper reduce her enemies to fear-goo, enjoy success for a day; teach a woman to reduce her own enemies to fear-goo, enjoy a lifetime of success.
I’ve become quite adept at playing the same mistakes over and over on my violin.
Today might not have been the day to read the book of cake recipes written by the lawyer-turned-baker, who can’t seem to write a full paragraph without mentioning that his quality of life improved about a zillion percent the day he gave up the law for baking.
…as far as I know, Lawyer-Turned-Baker didn’t spend a decade working in a cubicle farm, building a better class of landfill, before heading off to law school, so maybe I should just cut the poor fellow some slack, and thank him for making such excellent cake.
One of my student’s cover letters invited the reader to “think explosively”, which after reading 22 writing portfolios I very well might at any moment.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep I get up and find Burt Reynolds combing his mustache in my bathroom mirror; it was uncomfortable at first, but eventually we struck up a deal where he agreed to not watch me pee as long as I didn’t ask him anything about Lonnie.
They say that cats have more than forty different words for meowing.
Yet another student used the word “explode” creatively in a paper, suggesting that tourists who use cabs can’t “properly explode NY,” which would be more entertaining if she hadn’t continued to use “explode” in the place of “explore” for the next four pages.
I was little; I didn’t know shit
and by 7/7/77,
eleven years later, still don’t know any better;
it’s way too late for me to change,
and by 9/9/99
I hope I’m sittin’ on the back porch, drinkin’ red wine, singin’
“ohhhhhhhhhhhh, French fries with pepper!”
It might be the sleep deprivation, but currently the Lifetime Channel is playing a movie called “Last Exit” with a specific yet odd plot description: “road rage leads two Canadian mothers on an extended car chase.”
in the sense that i never made any choice that led to motherhood, but then i might have had i anticipated the yearly all-day-long incarceration in my home simply to escape the unholy and constant din of ubiquitous, “well”-wishing strangers.
Rufus thinks that maybe he should go upstairs and tell his mother to have a happy Mother’s Day, even if she does throw him down the stairs again like she did last year just because he didn’t have a gift; my friend Schuster thinks it’s an excellent idea, considering how happy she always is watching him bounce off the basement stairs, which, he added, “Also brings a lot of joy to me, even though I’m not your mother.”
Starting on Day One of the coming revolution, if you call your grandmother on Mother’s Day and she finds it suitable to ask you questions like “is your mother still a vegetarian? (because it’s not healthy for her to not eat any meat!)”, “maybe you should ask your daddy to shave his beard so that he looks more like a daddy that way?”, or “so, how’s the weight problem? is it still bad for you?”, you are exempted by law from ever calling her again.
Most things that “stay” in Vega$ are not that pleasant in the first place.
I would posit that the dreck they show on hospital televisions is carefully calibrated to encourage the speedy recovery and departure of the infirm, but in point of fact, that same dreck is played on all our televisions.
Right now I can think of no more heavenly lunch than a grilled cheese sandwich made with the world’s best, butteriest, highest-rising sandwich bread—the very same sandwich bread which is rising on the kitchen table, which still requires baking, and which won’t be ready to be cut until long, long after the acceptable standard hour for lunch.
“Think of it - we live on the bottom of an ocean of air,” said Fender to the third grade class, and they continued down the sidewalk, paddling boisterously against the current.
My son told me not to get a buzz cut because, as he so vividly put it, “You’ll look like an old, retired cow farmer.”
There’s a unique sort of disappointment that comes with the realization you really don’t have anything in common with your sibling.
Really I’m wearing a brace because I twisted my knee while trying to stand up off the bed without waking the baby in my arms, but if anyone asks it was ninjas.
“Today’s surprise spring nor’easter will bring strong wind gusts to the city, so do remain alert and look out for flying construction debris.”
1000 gigabytes of data to transfer/
take one down and copy it over/
999 gigabytes of data to transfer…
There’s nothing like a group of really great women to make your mood positive.
The very mention of the word made Dean pause in whatever he was doing and remember everything about her, every crease, every movement, every moment.
Those little Facebook applications terrorized her every waking breath and those in her sleep: she simultaneously raced to escape zombies and vampires, unscramble the words in the puzzle, re-park her cars, collect her virtual cards, grow a virtual garden and throw yarn at people.
Some words just make you giggle with silly delight.
As the echoes proceeded apace behind her, Elena broke into a sweat and hoped this was only a nightmare.