The thermometer is barely showing any red. All the doors and windows are sealed tight, and there’s a roaring fire.
It’s the perfect evening for hot chocolate.
The problem is, we don’t have any. Well, we’ve got chocolate flakes, but not enough milk to boil for the foamy kind.
We draw straws.
Short… short… short…
Long. Yeah, I drew the long straw, so I get to go out for the milk.
I bundle up with everything I’ve got, and I run out the door.
It’s only five minutes to the store and back.
Ten, if you forget your goddamned wallet.
Andrew Ian Dodge tells a tale inspired by the Cthulhu-like squiggly things:
There is a child born of man with black eyes. Not of dark brown but of darkest opal. He will be sought by those of evil, those called the deep ones; those servants of the Great Old One Cthulhu. They seek to end his days as he is a great threat. As he grows he will know them and find them…not to join but to end them. They will seek him high & low; at all costs not matter how high. You need this boy to save us all. Do not fear eyes of black…for they might save you anon.
Know what’s a big black eye? My not getting any themes from y’all.
No themes, no stories.
If we thank God for Friday, then should we curse Satan for Monday?
I asked Satan about it the other day when I saw him.
“Should I curse you for Monday?” I asked Satan.
“Sure,” said Satan. “I’m also responsible for hot dogs coming in packages of ten and hot dog buns coming in packages of eight.”
“Damn you, Satan!” I shouted.
“I’m already damned,” said Satan. “Care for a hot dog?”
Did you know that Satan likes his hot dogs Chicago style with mustard, relish, sweet peppers, pickles, and celery salt?
He’s not such a bad guy after all.
I remember turning thirty. It was a special time.
When people asked me how old I was, I said “Thirtysomething.”
People asked me what something meant. I’d reply “zero.”
Then I’d be asked “Shouldn’t you say ‘Thirtynothing’ instead of ‘Thirtysomething’ ?”
And I’d say “If silence can speak louder than words, nothing can be something.”
If I played tennis, I’d probably have said “Thirty – love.”
But I don’t. So I didn’t say it.
Now that I think of it, I never did watch that “Thirtysomething” show.
When I turn forty, I’ll also be thirtysomething. Something being ten, of course.
Andrew Ian Dodge considers the hypocrisy of smoking bans:
One thing that has always amused me is what happens to lefties when they get into government. I am not talking the far-left frothing loons; but the soft-left carrying and sharing type. The ones who used to bleat on about various crypto-fascist “regimes” in North America and other places. In power they ban everything they can find that anyone enjoys. The latest breach of our rights is the total ban on smoking in “public” places. I seem to remember one A. Hitler banned smoking in public places on the grounds it was an affront to the Reich. Labour uber Alles!
We have that problem here, too. Shelley Sekula Gibbs of the Houston City Council is behind an all-out smoking ban in the city, but she claims to be a champion of personal freedoms.
Halfway across the world, athletes in skin-tight polymer suits raced down snowy slopes and gracefully whooshed around flagpoles.
“Why are there no Spring and Autumn Olympics?” asked Mary, turning off the television.
Roger scratched his head. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Maybe there aren’t any Spring or Autumn sports.”
“I play horseshoes in the fall,” said Mary. “And we always play croquet in the spring.”
“I don’t think anyone would watch that,” said Roger.
“Do people really need to watch?” asked Mary.
“Good question,” said Roger.
Mary turned the television back on, but the network was now in a commercial.
Andrew Ian Dodge writes 100 words about 100 words…
I have 100 words to make you like me. 100 words to make you love me. Or is that 100 words to make you hate me. 100 words to make you respect me or would I rather you revile me? Why do I do this 100 word lark every day? What exactly does this writer, one, Andrew Ian Dodge, expect to get out of doing this daily exercise? Does he think he will be rich or famous or does he want both? I don’t have an answer and I am he. But then again do we always know our reasons?
I wonder if he’ll write 100 words about this?
Andrew Ian Dodge takes the holiday to heart…
Love is meant to make you happy. Or does it make you sick and helpless? Some say love will make you blind or crazy or mad or drugged. Love will make you do things you would never normally do, say things you would normally never say and think things you never would normally think. Love drives some to do bad or even evil. To fight, to maim and even kill in some cases. As we celebrate this Valentines Day can we truly say that love is a good thing? Or is it like everything else in life…does it just depend?
What do y’all think?
It was Abraham Lincoln’s passion for mountain climbing that got him halfway up the peak’s face. His long limbs helped him scramble up the rock like a spider up a wall.
Usually, he’d get to the top and bellow gorilla-style, but this time he bored of the endeavor midway. His Passion fled.
“Passion has helped us,” mumbled Abe. “but can do so no more. It will in future be our enemy.”
Clinging for dear life, he looked down at the ground.
Too far below.
Abe quickly developed a passion for not falling, and he climbed to the top.
Little Abe dangled his legs over the pier and cast the hook into the water.
“What are you fishing for today, Abe?” said his father.
“Whales,” said Abe.
“What kind of bait are you using?” asked his father.
“I’m using a toe,” said Abe.
“Where did you get that toe?” asked his father.
“I dug it up from the cemetery,” said Abe. “I was digging for worms, and I ended up with this toe.”
Abe’s father frowned. “Do you really want to eat a fish that you’ve caught with a corpse?”
“Whales aren’t fish,” said Abe.
“True,” said Abe’s father.