Posts Tagged ‘random’
- Invisible people are so arrogant. They completely ignore me, so I just act like they’re not there.
- I always thought angina was a heart ailment only women could get
- When someone in Vincent van Gogh’s family dies, are they referred to as Van Gone or Van Went
- Victoria Secret is being sued in a case of the Negligent Negligee whereby Victoria Secret’s lack of proper warning labels on the erotic garment has led to thousands of unplanned pregnancies. Women are suing for redress…so to speak.
Since Cincinnati has no synonym for cinnamon, some assume Cinnabon is simply sinful.
- An antonym for Anthony is Untony. Untony and Cleopatra – because opposites attract.
- People always talk about round numbers, but 0 is the only round number and it isn’t even a number and it isn’t even round. It’s an ellipse. Lips are an ellipse. A Sideway ellipse. Thounds like I’m lithping.
- Uncelebrated non-coincidences: Steve Martin and I have birthdays on different dates. Same with me and Jesus. No biggie.
- You crazy.///No, you crazy.
- Is a high knap blanket better than a high nap blanket?
- Enamel paint has made such a difference and yet nobody wants to talk about it
- You cray cray./// No you color with Crayola crayons
- What’s the plural of plural – plurals? If you strung them together would you have a plural necklace. I have 2 plural necklaces.
- I’ve given people plenty of Wedgies. Iceberg Wedge Salads that is. How I ever got them to fit in their ass crack I’ll never know, but that’s half the fun.
- I’m not sure if I like concepts or just the idea of concepts.
- Granite countertops have given purpose to so many people and you can’t take that for granite.
- No really, you nutty, you off the wall son./// OK, I guess that makes me a Walnut. So shell me.
- Stone fruit rocks./// No, it’s the pits.
- Leave us readers alone./// No, the ideas…they’re coming from inside my head. I’m not scared, I’m just letting them out
- And now a moment of silence for Kleenex and all it does for us with nary a complaint. Thank you martyred non-racial facial tissue. I kiss you and spew a slew of goo into your tissue. Quite the issue. Tis me or tis you? Probably tissue.
- If there was an elephant in the room, everyone, and I mean everyone, would be talking about it.
It is often said that to lead a happy life you should, “Dance like nobody’s watching.” I get that. But with a twist. What brings me joy is to, “Write like nobody’s reading.” And based upon my Google Analytics of late, that statement has never been truer. There’s no denying what brings us joy. The heart wants what the heart wants.
So as I bathe myself in literary pixie dust in preparation for a writer’s journey into rapture, I find myself in my element. I’ve got my backlit keyboard, my predatory imagination and I’ve just cracked open a fresh ginger-hibiscus kombucha. I’m not only in my element, I’ve become an element: Hardimanium – a rare psychoactive literary element consisting of all Higgs bosons and a knowing smirk.
Now as I gently loosen the tethers mooring me to conventional and unspectacular wisdom, I feel the motivating presence of a million eyes not reading this. Such exquisite freedom. My gatekeepers have been put on administrative leave and in their absence no bureaucratic censor exists to burden my thoughts. The swirling excesses of my cerebral vortices are tamed only by the limits of the English language.
Yes, it’s the perfect literary storm and the NWS (No, not the National Weather Service, but the Narcotized Writers’ Sanctuary) is calling for a lacerating Category 5 hurricane once the literary storm travels up your optic nerve and saturates your consciousness. But please don’t evacuate yourself just yet. I promise to keep you securely within the eye of Hurricane David, at an observationally safe distance from its high-velocity humor and killer premises. You might get a little wet, but that’s only in keeping with the words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow who mused so eloquently: “Into each life some rain must fall.”
I thank you for the absence of your presence. How else can I write so uninhibitedly?
Cutting and Pasting My Inner Dialogue
What if the Pep Boys were Impressionists and not Auto Parts bobble heads? Instead of Manny, Moe and Jack, they’d be Manet, Monet and Jacques.
Are there boats that ship dead people to ports of final call? And if so, would that ship be a place where corpses are berthed? Cuz I would think it would be pretty difficult to berth a corpse…I mean the gestation period alone.
Amazing Feet: Marathoner wins race 7 years running.
So I guess “new train smell” is just something I’ll never experience.
Things not often thought about: At the height of his popularity Elvis was drafted into the Army. And he actually had to go. No dispensation for the King of Rock & Roll. Can anyone imagine Eminem or Jay-Z having had to serve a 2 year hitch in the Army? “Nope, I’m sorry Mr. Mathers you’ll need to guard an ammo dump at Fort Benning for a couple of years.” Or…”Tough luck Shawn Carter, these potatoes won’t peel themselves here at Camp Granada.”