• Scrine is the home of lost, forgotten, and lonely sentences.
• Play nice. Be kind. Post only single sentences.
• Scrine gives everyone plenty of rope to play with, but reminds everyone that even the longest rope is capable of hanging a person.
• Censorship is ugly, but still not the ugliest bird in the sky. Happily, this has never been necessary.
• The appropriateness of all sentences will remain the sole discretion of Scrine's tender.
• Anyone. Reading along costs nothing but time.
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• With membership comes the unique privilege of calling yourself a Scriner.
• Your information will never be sold, given away, shared, or even traded for an unimaginably delicious slice of pie.
• The above sentence may be the only sentence on this site that is 100% true.
While not all of the original comments or Scrineblog entries have made it home to roost quite yet, it appears the days of newscrine.com have come to a close.
Scrine.com is back in business. Still lacking a decent mobile access, but we're getting close.
Use this space for notes and reminders to yourself.
This is a private space. Only you will see your notes.
Expiration date is not required, only if you want the note to magically disappear.
A great place to keep your fantastic ideas, like, "Hey! I need to write more sentences about crickets and English gentlemen with unruly beards."
2017 ~ 38
2016 ~ 89
2015 ~ 259
2014 ~ 138
2013 ~ 256
2012 ~ 433
2011 ~ 940
2010 ~ 1786
2009 ~ 2631
2008 ~ 3808
2007 ~ 4502
2006 ~ 3037
2005 ~ 1188
Whenever someone innocently questions who they need to call I am required to answer Ghostbusters.
I relate to Madonna; I too, stayed at the party too long.
I hate that feeling when your contacts are killing you and you want to just rip them out and throw them away... and you realize you are not wearing contacts and haven't worn them for years.
So it shouldn't be keeping me awake but of course it is, waiting for it to take on a human rhythm, waiting for the need to take action to investigate and do something about it because shit I'm the grown up (there used to be another grown up here but in the end I was just imagining that) and so I'll have to put on clothes, grab a flashlight and a cup of coffee, and my phone (can't go anywhere without that damn thing) and step out into the yard to properly witness the heinous crime of tree branches scrapping against a shed roof.
To them it's just dinner but once they get the reference their rock and roll education will finally be complete.
Lucy officially lost her love of irony the moment the president began his press conference with 'you people'.
To tease the timeline, I would go back to 1800 and tell Thomas Jefferson about his destiny of ending up on the odd two dollar bill.
I've always considered Ted Nugent's Stranglehold to be a love song.
I've seen and heard more than I ever cared to see or hear; I resolve to pay less attention next year.
"Alisha's smirk vanished like hope after an election."
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