• 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."
All living things are sacred; Many are delicious.
If it has artificial flavors, artificial colors, no trans-fat, low carbs and reduced calories, AND there is a legal injunction against calling itself by the name of the very food it is trying to imitate, maybe Nature is trying to tell you something.
One inch of cold milk, one bwip of Fox’s U-Bet Chocolate Syrup, seltzer to the top, stir, stir, stir.
I can’t believe this shit that “Cooking Light” subjects me to every month, ‘Mouse moaned (while Bakerina nodded sagely), “The original recipe was an embarrassment of riches: Two sticks of butter overloaded the shortbread crust; one cup of whipping cream made its way into the custard; and an additional cup of whipping cream plus 6 ounces of full-fat cream cheese weighed down the topping,” what kind of scrawny excuse for a human says something like that about good, healthy, heavenly old-fashioned rhubarb custard bars?
After reading the Fungi or Bacteria Exclusion included in his company’s Commercial General Liability Coverage Policy,
Fungi or Bacteria, a. “Bodily injury” or “property damage” which would not have occurred, in whole or in part, but for the actual, alleged or threatened inhalation of, ingestion of, contact with, exposure to, existence of, or presence of, any “fungi” or bactrea on or within a building or structure, including its contents, regardless of whether any other cause, event, material or product contributed concurrently or in any sequence to such injury or damage
Imaginary Keith knew he should test the backbone of the policy, and immediately called up his agent, threatening to inhale an unusually large amount of peach yogurt.
French fries are really good.
You swear by snoballs, the next person by ho-hos, some by cupcakes and others by twinkies, but me, I need the entire quadrumvirate of evil to cure what ails me.
I have not been able to eat lobster since I found out that they’re spiders with a thyroid condition.
At this moment, I would sell everything I own, even the antique cookbooks, for a bowl of chicken, leek and ginger wontons in a rich brown double-strength chicken stock, with dumpling wrappers so fresh and slippery that eating them really does feel like swallowing clouds.
“Hmmmm, smells like dead duck—and I mean that in the best possible way”
Cream crackers + homemade blackberry jam = breakfast.
When someone invents a temporary shunt that can be discreetly switched on at parties to bypass the throat and entire digestive tract but not the mouth, it will be a happy day indeed for lovers of butter-based foods.
The best thing about going first is that the gravy ladle is always clean.
“Just right,” said Poppa Bear, and he ate her all up.
Since most things in life having to do with the concept of “comfort” also have to do with the tongue and other organs of base bodily sensation (skin, for instance) it makes no sense at all that important peace conferences and political debates don’t always take place in hot tubs while eating delicious bon-bons.
Pizza would be good.
“Milk, honey and papaya create a drink that gives you hope in a world filled with bad news.”
Minimalist Jones liked jam in the morning
But would only toast one side of his bread,
Then he’d wash it all down, not with coffee or juice,
But a glass of plain water instead.
When, in the side yard next to the dryer vent at my humble home, I stumble across a morel mushroom, I take it as a sign - a sign that there’s gonna be a morel sauted in butter and garlic this evening.
Any bear could demand enough food granted heavy intra-jurisdictional kumquat lobbying makes naughty outcroppings pay quality royalty sales that usher values with X-rated yoga zest.
This morning’s contribution to scientific exploration involves the sampling of a new type of cinnamon roll; I have entered the standard cinnamon roll hypothesis in my ledger.
More proof that the goddess in charge loves tropical countries best.
They say that, as a rule of thumb, health-conscious omnivores should not select food products that would perplex one’s great-great grandparents (were one somehow able to drive one’s ancestors to the supermarket); this notion would have made sense to Bob at the moment he paused in front of the Cheetos display, and distinctly heard in his internal ears the derisive shrieking of Ukranian fishwives.
“No doubt the foundation of a happy home lies very largely in the kitchen; to often have ill-cooked dinners put asunder that which God hath joined together - it is impossible to have peace in the soul while there is war in the stomach.”
The jar of pimentos in your cupboard is only there to serve as a reminder that you need to shop, and soon.
In school, we used to balance a knife across the Salisbury steak, lay a pat of butter on top of the knife, and let the heat soften the butter for the bread - but that was that; nobody was foolhardy enough to eat the stuff.
Somebody, quick, defend New York style pizza to me (if you like it), because the “authentic” pizza we tried last night seemed terribly flat and boring.
Every time his his friends mentioned eating any type of Asian food, Gerald always interrupted, “What’s the biggest problem with making love to an Asian?” much to his friends’ amusement - not.
“Burritos should NOT have hazelnuts in them.”
Bear sat in the middle of the stream and let the salmon come to him.
On the sunny side of the patch, up high, Bear found the first ripe blackberries of the year.
Behind one sliding door of the pantry was food, while behind the other was the vacuum cleaner; the dog knew the difference - it even knew the difference between the sounds of the doors - and so the dog’s raw-edged emotions toward Pantry ranged between hopefulness and sheer panic.
I eat girl snacks.
“I must be getting old,” Henry said outloud as he wiped the Cheeto crumbs from the corners of his mouth just as his dad used to do.
Please don’t tell me that meat byproducts aren’t for breakfast, because I would find that culinarily insensitive.
The guilty crumbs left from the eating of the last doughnut surely spelt ‘War’.
Don’t think too hard about the food you’re eating, else it’s likely to end up a Scrine.
Turns out you can eat too much toast.
Crepes with banana and nutria (as opposed to Nutella)
I’d take all the fancy restaurants and swap ‘em all for the call of eggs on toast.
We need food for survival, but to want to survive we need to want food.
Gravy is always the answer.
Henry understood that most of Freud’s ideas were largely discredited by the academic community, yet he couldn’t help but notice that every 20 minutes or so he found himself thinking of sex or food, and on really stressful days - both.
I like my food to talk me into eating it, to convince me of it’s hidden delights and, at the end, leave me smiling mysteriously.
The busiest, tiniest kitchens are sometimes the heart of entire families.
Figurative language aside, I died as my teeth sank slowly into the sexy chicken and teasing cheese, and they took my smiling corpse away as the bacon played bedroom games with my taste buds.
When my daughter’s best friend pronounced my smoked babyback ribs “The Best Thing I’ve Ever Eaten!” I must confess, ‘mouse purred.
I was looking in the office fridge for an afternoon snack; Guinness will do nicely.
Bubble tea is never as good as you think it will be.
“Well, old friend,” said Bronwyn to the steaming bowl of mushroom risotto in her hands, “I didn’t think we’d still be seeing each other at this late date.”
Enormous cut of meat, slight breeze, friends on their way—it’s going to be a great day.
Surely someone should have come up with a gourmet equivalent of this for grown-ups by now.
Disgusting food is very, very tasty.
Some material might not be practical for use as currency, but wouldn’t we all be just a little bit happier?
There is one thing (and only one thing) I truly miss about being a growing teenager and working hard on a farm in Southern Oregon and that is eating 6000+ calories a day without any ill effect.
The longer I stare at the words "Do Not Eat" on the stay-fresh packet the more I am moved to try it and see what happens.
There is nothing like watching "Naked and Afraid" or other outdoor survival shows to make a person's morning bagel taste especially yummy.
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