Kids can be so cruel.
One girl in my daughter’s class is named Betsy. The kids call her Betsy Wetsy.
They stand around her and shout it until she soils herself.
A boy named Harold has long hair. He’s Hairy Harry.
He tried to chop off his hair and made a mess of himself, even with those rounded safety scissors.
The teacher tried to stop the torment, but the kids turned on her.
She’s in counseling now.
Nobody’s made fun of my daughter yet.
Not because she’s perfect.
No, she the ringleader of the child mob.
I’m so proud of her.
Sally liked to shop for shoes.
She filled her closet with them.
Eventually, the “baby’s room” became the shoe room.
Her husband wanted a baby, but Sally knew that if she had a baby, she’d have to clear out her shoe room.
So, she took birth control.
When the birth control failed, she secretly got an abortion.
The next time the birth control failed, she got her tubes tied.
Her husband eventually tricked her into a fertility clinic where the whole ruse was exposed.
They adopted a pair of twins.
And got a bigger house, with its own shoe room.
Listening to the jazz streaming channel in iTunes while writing is like living in a Charlie Brown special where you’re Charlie, and everything you write just isn’t good enough for the Peanuts Gang.
“You blockhead,” growls Lucy. “Don’t you know that you used passive voice?”
“Good grief,” you say, furiously backspacing. Except that you backspace over the one good paragraph you wrote.
“Try Control-Z to undo that,” says Linus. Your smitten sister beams at his brilliance.
Your beagle, neglected and lonely, pulls out the power cord from the wall.
The screen goes blank. The music stops.
Thank God for auto-save.
A film crew affiliated with The Smithsonian discovered the new species in the Amazon rainforest.
One billionaire, who was a serious gourmet chef, offered them a lot of money so he could cook and eat it.
Another billionaire, who was into bestiality, offered them a lot of money to fuck it.
After a bidding war erupted, the film crew had to admit that the species was now extinct. They accidentally put the jeep in reverse and ran the thing over.
Upon hearing the news, the pervert and the gourmet cook dropped their offers.
But a necrophiliac xenophile billionaire expressed interest.
I am the man who unmixes drinks.
I put the smoke back into cigarettes, and light back into the stars.
I put the blood back into the wound, and the scream back into your lips.
The tick and the tock go back in the clock.
Turn back, turn back.
The teardrop rolls slowly up, drying your cheek, as it goes back into your eye.
The knife in my hand, in my pocket.
Step back, step back.
That smile again, I wish it could last forever.
So, I mix another drink, light the cigarette,
and we move forward in time again.
Some people say that you should weigh yourself first thing in the morning when you wake up. You’ve digested your food, sweated and exhaled and farted the waste.
Others say that you should weigh yourself at night before you go to bed. Might as well tally up the damage from the day honestly.
The truth is, it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re consistent.
It’s not the individual datapoints that matter. It’s the trend that matters. And to measure a trend, you need to be consistent.
Now hold my hair as I throw up these stupid tacos and frozen margaritas.
Every ship in the fleet has a primary computer and a backup computer.
When both fail, you can use the lifeboat computers.
When those fail, you can try to repurpose a personal unit.
It’ll take a while to upload the general systems program.
And you’ll have to connect it to the ship’s network infrastructure.
The ship and the computer will handshake.
Give it some time to diagnose the protocols.
And then, you’re back in control.
You won’t have the full interface available.
But you won’t need it.
Just plot a course from where you are.
To the nearest repair dock.