Betty White would have been 100 today.
Aside from her hawking a chunk of hypertension and diabetes called Snickers to the public, she did a lot of good, too.
And she was very kind to animals.
So, in honor of her birthday, I’ll give something to the local animal shelter.
No, not Tinny or Myst.
People who give up their animals to shelters because they needed a temporary companion while working from home and now they’re too busy to care for a pet are assholes. They’re fucking selfish assholes.
Kind of makes you wish someone had sneezed on their Doordash.
She inhaled. Ah, coffee.
The nice librarian had suggested the book “Moving On”.
How appropriate. Her husband was having an affair.
When she returned the book, she found out that her husband was having an affair with none other than the nice librarian.
Good thing she had also picked up “How to Get Rid of Your Old Life”. Lots of interesting advice in it, including a few radical methods of… getting rid of your old life.
Books are extraordinary, and so are libraries.
Nice librarians… not as much. At least, not this one! But even that problem had been solved.
Against the odds
I’ve always liked even numbers. Nice, friendly characters that give you no trouble and never conspire to trip you up.
Not like those nasty, argumentative odd numbers! You know the sort… Those sevens and nines that always mess up the bill or throw out the calculation. The ones that cause arguments at restaurants and make you look an idiot when adding up the groceries.
And don’t tell me fives are friendly – I’m pretty certain they have a hidden agenda!
Give me even numbers any day.
Although, I suppose eights can be tricky, and don’t get me started about those sixes!
“Even as Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed as these; even as the great geographer Lao Shen did not himself traverse the entirety of the Yellow River; and even as Kant confessed that Hume awakened him from dogmatic slumber; even so”— the storyteller began— “I cannot entertain everyone every time.”
After the ritual of abasement, he entered on the ritual of exaltation. “This is the most marvellous story ever told! Worlds created and destroyed! Heights of passion, depths of despair! Cunning twists and sudden revelations!”
Finally, he began the story itself. “It was a dark and stormy night.”
Even I have feelings.
I grant you that they may not be the sort of feelings generally considered desirable, or appropriate, but they are, nevertheless valid, and without them the world would be a poorer place.
It would indeed be boring if lust, anger, greed and avarice didn’t exist, and how could we ever measure the more ‘virtuous’ qualities and experience their benefits, without their opposites?
The dark side has its place, and without it, we would all be the lesser.
So, thank me, and celebrate my depravity; tell me I’m important, and I matter.
Because, even I have feelings!
What Could GO Possible Wrong 021
The first time-frame to make contact with the Duck Pint was Park’s. The aspect of the blue was thick, but he could just make out the ghostly appearance of a hand. He tried to turn toward the man in cuffs but time was way too slow to allow that move. Also, Park was having major trouble forming thoughts. He could summon up thing-ness, but act-ness danced outside his ability. “D-a-m-n ,“ he thought. Damn what he thought. Even as the best of time, in spite of some Hidden skill with a pint glass, Park was slow on the up take.
Sabrina grabbed Billbert by the collar of his jacket and pulled him back to the campfire. He hadn’t really paid attention to the route they had taken through the forest and didn’t know his way back out without Sabrina to guide him, so he submitted and went with her.
Adult men and women surrounded the fire while two evenly space lines, one of boys, the other girls faced each other.
Billbert and Sabrina joined their respective lines as an elderly woman said. “Alright. Boys take out your rings and place them on your partner’s finger.”
Billbert choked. “What the heck?”
There’s a button on my remote that for some reason keeps bringing up water polo.
I have no goddamned idea why it does.
It’s some sort of shortcut to a streaming guide that LG runs that defaults to a sports channel that’s always showing water polo.
The button is right next to my Home button, so I hit it by mistake a lot.
I tried to pry it out of the remote, but the remote’s not having any of that.
We are in an age where one button… ONE BUTTON brings you water polo.
And yet we can’t cure cancer
OCT 2 Speediest
OCT 9 Thumbs up
OCT 16 Remote
OCT 23 What happens next?
OCT 30 Quit, Mouse trap, Base, Facts, Martian, Stamp
NOV 6 Remastered
NOV 13 Heated
NOV 20 Record
NOV 27 The way we were, Waterproof, The wrong words, Bottomless pit, Safe, A word from an unknown language.
DEC 4 Irresistible
DEC 11 Anaheim
DEC 18 Speed
DEC 25 Put that thing down, Spycam, Pew, Evidence, March, Thick
Horror on the subway!
As far as the eye can see
Frozen in time
Riot of color
It’s a dirty job
Why should I?
Eaten by lions
The lion that ate cherries
Hard to believe
It’s a pattern
Crack of dawn
Some guy/girl I met online
Fog a mirror
Long live The King
You’ll never believe…
One two three…
You never know
All our tomorrows
In my hand
Cut and dried
Blood is thicker than water
Pots and pans
A monkey’s wedding
Now and then
No annual contract
Icing on the cake
Lost in translation
Once more, with passion!
Walking on eggshells
Yes. Yes there is.
Just as there is a Kitchen of Fame, a Dining Room of Fame, a Basement of Fame, and a Bedroom of fame.
There is a Bathroom of Fame.
And it’s absolutely disgusting in there.
You’d think they’d use the supplies in the Janitorial Closet of Fame to clean the Bathroom of Fame, but you’re not allowed to take anything out of there.
Nor are you allowed to actually use anything in the Bathroom of Fame.
So people just piss and crap in the hall.
For every locksmith that claims that his new lock is unpickable, there’s a lockpicker who is ready to prove the locksmith wrong.
Especially when the lock locks up something so valuable, the lockpicker can’t resist wanting it.
Some locksmiths, like Royce Smith, were so proud of their creations, they’d advertise a challenge.
He sent out a diagram of a lock so simple and a reward so great, every lockpicker and thief signed up for the challenge.
They met at the Main Street Hotel that Saturday, seeking their fortune.
Royce locked the doors and windows and set the hotel on fire.
Upon being discovered in the Baby Bear’s bed, Goldilocks got up and fled for her life.
“Alexa, lock the door,” said Papa Bear.
Goldilocks felt the lock engage as she grabbed at the door handle.
She took out her phone.
“I’m livestreaming this!” she yelled at the bears.
“That’s a nice phone there,” said Mama Bear. “Let’s just talk this through and work it out, okay?”
Baby Bear cried. “I just want my sheets washed. I think she peed the bed.”
Goldilocks and the bears came to a peaceful agreement, and she put the phone down.
Then, they ate her.
Cook County Illinois.
In the Thirties, they called it Crook County.
North Side, South Side, Lake Side.
They were all on the other side of the law.
Al and his furniture store.
Bugsy and his hotel.
Frank and his flower shop.
Frank, now that was a guy who got his hands dirty.
A notch on his gun for every man he killed.
Twenty-seven notches did him no good when they got the drop on him, filling the shop full of lead.
His flower shop provided the flowers for his funeral.
And Al had a special coffin made up.
The virus came, and the virus went.
Some people used the opportunity to eat healthy and work out in their homes.
But so many others just sat in front of their laptops and TVs and ate to fill the time.
Delivered meals, delivered groceries.
One Mexican restaurant delivered margaritas by the gallon.
My pal Fred did just that.
He got everything delivered.
And when they lifted the lockdown, Fred was ready to go out and meet his friends.
Except that he had eaten so much delivery, he couldn’t fit through his front door anymore.
So they ended up visiting him.
They say to have a good home, you must fill it with good books.
And when you’d go into a home and see a lot of books, and you’d think it’s a good home… right?
What if they never read those books?
What if they bought all those books by the yard to fill their shelves?
Or, what if they don’t own physical copies of books, and they read everything on a kindle?
What if they’re blind and can’t read those books?
Or they can see, and they’re Braille editions?
If they’re all Jackie Collins, okay. It’s a bad home.
The lighthouse stood by the bay, small waves hitting it softly.
The carcass of a boat rocked back and forth, a warning flag still swaying in the wind.
They had been overexposed to that gas, the one coming from the barrels tossed in the water at high sea. They tried to sail away as fast as they could. But it was only a matter of seconds.
People came onboard. They said no, don’t come here. But they did anyway.
And now, the lighthouse stood by the bay, small waves hitting it softly, with no one to take care of it.
Overdressed – Overexposed
Have you ever seen those goth girls and boys? All black clothing and mascara, veils and teenage angst.
Even on the hottest, sunniest day, they shrink within their cloak of darkness, like modern day vampires, avoiding the light as if it threatened mortal danger.
I once went out with a girl like that.
For months, I tried everything I could to encourage her to shed just a few layers of protective attire.
Then one fateful day, she relented, and stripped to her bare skin.
Skin so pale, she appeared like a badly overexposed photograph.
So bright, she blinded me forever.
After a day’s work on a photoshoot in an ancient forest, I found one image I’d accidentally overexposed. I would have thrown it out, but I noticed it had brought out some strange details in a deep hole amongst some tree roots.
I went back the next day to image the thing better. Going close up would just scare off whatever it was, so instead I brought my ultra-HDR, ultra-resolution digital to get it by stealth from a distance.
On the camera back I zoomed in on the hole and turned up the brightness…
THEY DON’T LIKE TO BE SEEN!
Maybe, as a child, I was overexposed to violence and bloodshed; although, it’s fair to say that none of the other kids in the neighbourhood followed the path I’ve taken.
Perhaps, poor mental health has warped my values and sense of decency, eroded my capacity to empathise and my grasp on reality. Yet every test I’ve taken indicates I’m no more damaged than the next person.
I suppose I may have lacked spiritual and moral guidance to keep me on the straight and narrow. But, that’s not true either.
I simply enjoy mindless torture and violence.
See… Perfectly well adjusted!
What Could GO Possible Wrong 020
If anyone had spent the time in any timeframe perusing the walls of the Arm’s they would have come a across a most piacular overexposed photo. Even in the rumble of the curtain state of the pub they would have seen their collected face. Warn and weary, but a glare of defend resolve. Cervantes had seen it, the machinations of the last few days were to ensure it would accrue. They would never forgive him, but he had long ago given that emotion to the devil in exchange for a clear sight of right action. Duty heavy as a Mountain.
They saw the flickering light of the bon fire long before they got to it. Excitement flickered in Sabrina’s eyes, reflected from the dancing flames. “Stay behind me as we approach the ceremony. I don’t want you to be overexposed to the magic.”
Billbert stopped dead. “Overexposed. That doesn’t sound good. What are you getting me into?”
“Nothing. Really. It’s a simple ceremony. But, if you’re not used to magic, you may get dizzy, disoriented, or a bit euphoric. Just keep in mind, I’m your friend.”
“You’ve said that before,” Billbert said and headed back the way they had come.
Melanie spent a lot of time volunteering at the hospital.
“I like reading to old people,” she said. “Especially the ones who have no family or friends visiting them.”
She did it for two years before she stopped showing up.
All of the patients who’d died left everything in their wills to an asset management company she’d set up to drain them dry.
She cashed out, got a new identity, and left the country.
The hospital probably should have known when they asked her to help with the children’s ward.
And she replied “Kids? They don’t have any fucking money.”