When I want toast, I want plain white toast.
No whole wheat.
No ancient grain.
I mean, seriously?
That’s seriously flat bread.
No raisin cinnamon.
No beer bread.
No Irish soda bread.
No banana bread.
No english muffins.
Those are just thick tortillas sliced open.
You know that sweet potato bread?
The bread that they make with sweet potatoes?
None of that shit either.
Sometimes I don’t feel like combing my hair.
So, I shave my head.
Sometimes, I don’t feel like brushing my teeth.
It’s okay. I can take them out and soak them in a glass.
Sometimes, I don’t feel like doing the dishes.
Easy to deal with, because I use paper plates, and I can throw them out.
Sometimes, I don’t feel like writing.
So, I don’t write. I just sit there and think for a while.
And when the feeling passes, when I don’t feel like doing nothing anymore, I get up and do all the things I didn’t do.
I like fans.
Even though the air conditioning is on, I still like the feel of a fan.
Some fans are loud. And others catch lint and dust and cat hair in the grating.
They’re a pain to clean out.
So, I looked at one of those Dyson fans.
They’re a bladeless design, and move more air while running much quieter than normal fans.
So, I got one. And I compared it to my normal fan.
It was quieter. I liked it.
Then I turned on my laptop to write a review, and it’s fan was as loud as hell.
Sure, they’re a good team, but they can get better.
So, at the trade deadline, they shopped their star outfielder for a third baseman.
And the rest of their infield for starting pitching.
Their starting pitchers were dealt for a new outfield.
While the rest of their outfielders were exchanged for some bullpen pitchers, a closer, and a better catcher.
Another catcher came in an even deal for their existing catcher.
The next day, the locker room had a whole new bunch of guys suiting up.
In uniforms that the equipment manager had just barely finished sewing on their names.
Someone found a kitten in the parking garage.
It was a small black kitten, and hiding under a car.
My black cat Myst has a bit of a cold, and I’ve been having to give her pills.
She bites and claws and spits them out, so it hasn’t been easy.
And last night, she fell asleep in my lap, fell off, and clawed my leg on the way down to the floor.
Maybe I should go back for the kitten?
I can show it to Myst and tell her that she’s been replaced.
Maybe then she’ll take her damn pills.
Ted was an honest statistician.
He collected data all day and ran it all through models for analysis.
But his partner Billy wasn’t honest.
Billy liked to massage the data.
He went full-on dirty and crude with the models. And only the hottest models.
Caressed the data in ways that would make any honest statistician blush.
Ted would hear strange sounds coming from Billy’s office.
He’d smell musty, strange smells.
And Billy would bring in packages wrapped in brown paper, never telling Ted what was in them.
Should they split?
Ted tossed a coin, and it landed on its edge.
Do you remember the show with the flying saucer?
They went on for three seasons, and their audience grew with every episode.
The merchandising, too.
Toy robots. Lunch boxes. Fizzy candy snacks.
And, of course, a flying saucer frisbee.
Pretty soon, everyone was watching the show.
Nobody watched any another shows.
Because all they wanted to do is watch that show.
So, at the height of popularity, the network cancelled the show.
Because they were losing money on every other show.
In the end, they made a series of popular movies.
And, of course, all other movies suffered for it.
To avoid paying taxes, Albert claimed that he was a houseplant.
“Plants don’t pay taxes,” said Albert.
He hired a good lawyer, and he fought the government in court.
The judge decided in Albert’s favor.
“Congratulations,” said Albert’s lawyer. “You’re a plant. So, about my bill…”
Albert smiled and walked out of the courtroom.
Because plants didn’t have to pay bills.
“They also don’t pay rent,” Albert told his landlord.
The landlord evicted Albert and tossed his stuff on the street.
“Plants don’t own stuff,” said Albert’s neighbors, grabbing what they could.
Albert sat down on the curb and wept.
When David Prowse died, his spirit floated up to Heaven.
He waited at the curb until it was safe to cross.
“We’re all huge fans of yours,” said Saint Peter. “In fact, we have a screening of the Star Wars movies tonight.”
They all watched, and everyone cheered and recited the lines along with the beloved movies.
And at the end of the third movie, when Vader’s mask was removed, it was David’s face, not Sebastian Shaw’s.
David cried with joy. “This truly is Heaven.” So, what about the prequels?
“What prequels?” said Saint Peter.
Yes, it truly was Heaven.
When the angels sing, Heaven shines.
When the angels scream, Hell gets hotter.
When the angels cry, it rains on Earth.
When the angels laugh, the winds pick up the leaves and make them dance in the air.
When the angels tremble, the earth shakes.
When the angels fart…
What happens when angels fart?
That’s what this experiment is all about.
We fed an angel garlic, onions, broccoli, and refried beans.
Then, we waited for the angel to fart.
But it hasn’t farted yet.
More beans? Garlic?
Or maybe we need another angel.
The angel laughs, and the leaves dance.