It started with a simple filter. Fred sent email from his bank to a Banking folder.
Then, Fred filtered some mailing lists into their own folders.
All the while, Fred was creating filters for Spam, sending it to the trash.
A few rules here, a few filters there.
Then Fred added auto-responders. This let people know he got their mail.
Pretty soon, Fred’s email box could run itself.
Fred’s car, on the other hand, couldn’t drive itself.
He got drunk and ran into a tree, and died.
But Fred’s email box kept on going.
And so will yours, one day.
A friend once told me that when a beloved cat dies, their tenth lives are our memories of them.
The truth is, their tenth lives are as ghosts, and they haunt the shit out of us.
We see them out of the corners of our eyes.
We feel them near when we are trying to sleep.
We hear them in the kitchen, or in the closet, or under the bed.
And it scares the shit out of us.
Maybe when we tend to our other cats, or the new kitten, do they get bored with us, and they move on.
When Hercules went to Hell, he gave drugged cakes to Cerberus the three-headed guard dog.
Cerberus fell asleep, and Hercules got in to do whatever he had to do in Hell.
Recently, I had a rescue someone from Hell, so I tried the same trick.
Except that I got my drugged cakes and personal stash mixed up.
Cerberus got the Hostess Cupcakes, while I got a lethal dose of sleeping pills.
So, I made it into Hell. But getting out is posing a bit of a problem.
Mind coming to rescue me?
(Make sure to label your supplies clearly, too.)
We wanted to call the twins Terri with an I and Terry with a Y.
The hospital said no. The state said no.
We didn’t care. We did it anyway. Again.
Bobby with a Y and Bobbi with an I welcomed their new baby brother and sister home.
While we went upstairs to get started on what we hoped would be Sandy with a Y and Sandi with an I.
We had triplets. Sandee with two E’s snuck in there somehow.
The school district registrar hated us.
Moreso when Danni with an I and Danny with a Y arrived.
They say that The Flying Dutchman is a haunted ship that is doomed to sail the seas forever.
No, it is not an actual Dutch man who can fly. Because that’s Rolf P. Gunderson.
Sure, Rolf’s got one of those fancy jetpacks, and he wears a pair of carbon-fiber wings, but when he goes zooming around there’s no arguing that he’s flying.
He’s very careful about power lines, birds, and church steeples, but no insurance company will sell him a policy. Just too dangerous, they say. Too much risk.
Yet it’s an insurance company’s ad banner that he’s towing today.
I used to walk a lot. But the heat and weather got to me, and I stopped walking as much.
Then, I drove to work and back. No walking at all.
Got heavy. Got sick.
So, I bought a treadmill. One with a desktop for a computer or a book. Or a fan.
The boxes were huge. I had to drag them in, open them up, and unpack the parts.
Assembling it was a bitch. Then hauling the packaging to the dumpster left me a sweaty mess.
Forget walking on it. Just keep shipping me treadmills. They’re a workout alright.
Arian Foster was a good running back for the Houston Texans for a few years, but a series of injuries cut into his playing time and value as a player.
He’d work with rehabilitation trainers and strength coaches in the off-season to recover, then come out for training camp, and get a season-ending injury in the preseason or the first few games.
So, the Texans let him go.
He bounced around the league a bit, until he ended up on a team, on their Injured Reserve list.
“We’ll train our medical staff on him like a cadaver,” said the owner.
Marilyn Monroe sang that diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but she never sang about a girl’s worst enemy.
So many enemies to choose from, really.
Booze, Pills. A bad childhood.
And no children of her own.
Endless fame without true love.
Everybody knew her name, but nobody really knew her.
Wanting, always wanting.
And getting, getting so much, but never getting what she wanted.
So, she had her diamonds. Diamonds all around.
But diamonds are hard and sharp, and they cut deep.
They call her immortal, a Hollywood legend, but she’s just as dead as everyone else.
Blades of grass
Growing through cobblestones.
We pull up the stones
And then the grass.
We find the wet side of the stone
And press it back into place
How can it be
That the stones fit before
But they resist their return?
Does the street breathe?
Do the stones
Freed of their bonds
Stretch and expand?
We press each stone back into place
Or pressing rod
Never with a hammer’s blow
Because we do not want
To shatter a stone
And have to find a replacement
Better than the stone
Which fit just fine before
What’s the difference between a sore loser and someone who stands by principles, no matter what?
I’ve got to agree with Ted Cruz on refusing to endorse the man who mocked his wife and his faith.
The concept of “party unity” after a modern mudslinging primary process is inherently dishonest.
On the same hand, Bernie Sanders claiming to be principled is a joke, too.
He is an Independent in the Senate, but ran as a Democrat.
That’s not principle. That’s opportunism.
I hold my nose, and instead of voting, I kick over the booth.
May they all burn in Hell.