• 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.
• Membership is required to post your own sentences. Joining is quick and painless.
• 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.
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."
I fear my shirt has somehow become tangled in the gears of my state’s Employment Department, and now there is nothing left to do but watch my company be slowly mashed to a painful, bureaucratic death.
Exchanging punches with a government agency is seldom fun.
I have written nine double-spaced pages about the California budget crisis so far, and not one sentence is good enough to post on Scrine - except maybe the part where I playfully suggest we force our governor to read the book Catch-22.
Gertrude gazed in wonder at the pompous condescending clerk as she corrected Gerties assumptions, “Gertrude? No, no, no… we don’t use names here! It’s all too personal, we give you a number, it’s more equitable that way. To save time we also assume you are stupid and don’t actually want a job. Is there anything else you don’t understand?”.
I have lost my ability to convince strangers of outlandish things.
“A failure to plan on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.”
Attention: All employees are required to attend the mandatory “Think Outside The Box” seminar, where they will learn how to fill out a series of forms that must be submitted for executive permission to be innovative.
The quick arm squeeze, the sympathetic gaze, the murmured ‘oh, and how’s it working out there?’, are all potential indicators you let yourself be hired by a department with well-known budget problems.
Writing a six-page report on the reports other people have written is just as exciting as you’d imagine.
I sure do miss working for a regulatory agency where everyone strived to stay on my good side; these days I couldn’t get a return call if I offered free beer with every voice mail.
Marty recklessly lit all the candles on the Christmas centerpiece, violating two government office rules - no open flames and no blatantly holiday-specific ornaments - in one fell swoop.
The soggy government workers on the commuter train gazed out the rain-spattered windows at the unnaturally dark city streets being pounded by 60 mile per hour winds and thought, as one, if I had any vacation time left, I’d've stayed home today.
The door that accesses the roof of the library blew right off its hinges during a big storm, because somebody had previously (and against all rules) propped it open for unauthorized access; now everyone’s speculating what exactly librarians do on the roof when nobody’s looking.
Wolfgang Mozart’s ghost, or Wolfie as he was known around the office, carefully begun orchestrating the demise of the proletariat once he landed a job with the state.
Ludwig in accounting found Wolfie’s early paperwork bothersome, the movements seldom filed in triplicate, as required.
Wolfie agreed to write a recommendation for Pavarotti’s transfer to Human Resources, but realized his mistake when it was later discovered that the tenor had a propensity for stealing yogurts from the break room refrigerator.
After six years of climbing the corporate ladder, Perkins had finally acquired enough business cards to finish his Eiffel Tower.
On the dais, former Governor Gray Davis warmed to his subject, heartened to see the audience grow gradually more still and to hear their breathing become slow and measured; though he fleetingly wondered why so many had their eyes closed, he presumed it was for greater concentration on his words of wisdom.
Every day was Christmas to Witherspoon, right down to the festive Santa stickers he put on all his outgoing faxes.
Above all things, Josie hated socialism, bureaucracy, medicine, being told what to do, and growing old; it was little wonder she regarded her Medicare years as nothing less than a confluence of governmental abuses.
The smell of lavender in summer was so pungent, and gave human beings such a euphoric feeling of light-hearted optimism, a Senate hearing was immediately convened to make lavender a controlled substance.
“Sorry, but the budget is keeping us from hiring; next, would everyone please welcome Scott, our new hire.”
In a fit of passive aggression, Herbert transferred his report’s most salient data into the footnotes, in 4-point font.
“We love our bureaucrats here in Hell,” the Devil said; “After all, it’s their paperwork that makes all these wonderful flames possibly.”
“Gee,” she thought, “I would really love policy work if I didn’t have to read all these damn bills.”
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