You said the moon was ours to hell with the day, the sunlight is only going to take love away.
On long, lonely days in the cubicle, with virtually no human interaction, Muriel’s headache seemed a little like a visitor who cared enough to stop by and see her - like it would be a shame to chase it away with aspirin before it had had a chance for a nice long stay.
The chief was so dismayed by the company’s antiquated accounting system that he often worried that the copy machine was only a temporary office fixture, and that one day he would show up for work and find a scrivener standing in the corner, quill pen in hand, sharing stories of his vacation time in Leeds.
Sometimes I love the anonymity of the confessional, but sometimes it drives me crazy guessing who said what.
Bear, being unable to read, was not bothered by the world news as the discarded newspaper fluttered quite prettily on the dancing breeze over the field of wildflowers.
We might be making progress here.
Flying is a good excuse to take drugs.
The more time I spend at this site, the worse I feel that I can’t think up a sentence.
It wasn’t until I bought a new wallet that I realized I was broke.
She welcomed the sweet anonymity of the internet, not realizing that she left a trail behind her like wet toilet paper on the sole of a shoe.
Okay, Scrineverse, let’s all join hands and sing “Hands Across the 80’s” for Our Miss Bunni, who is fighting the good fight” for 24 hours, starting Saturday morning.
The problem with being a superhero, Juan realized, was clearly a matter of poor costuming: every time he wore his underwear over his jeans he chafed so badly he couldn’t resume superhero duties for at least a week.
Tammy realized her mistake almost as soon as she got to work; somehow casual Fridays did not include her Wonder Womam pajamas, stylish as they were.
Many times someone takes something a little too far and you imagine if they had stopped one sentence sooner; of course there are some people who just shouldn’t even bother starting to speak, because one sentence is one too many.
That’s not my bad, that’s YO bad!
“If you waste my time and we’re not sleeping together, it’s billable.”
There were bugs crawling in the gaps between the letters of his keyboard who refused to leave, and every time he tried to press a key, he was grossly sickened by the crunch of flattened critters beneath his fingers.
Rufus thinks that he could take being tortured as long as it didn’t involve his teeth or his toes, and my friend Schuster was about to say something himself when we swore we heard Rufus’ mom through the floorboards say something about teasing and bedwetting.
Sitting in a corner of the living room, ripping up a full box of bank account statements, direct deposit statements and other ephemera from 1999, Bronwyn dreamed of a place where all such things could be placed in a drawer, easily referenced and thrown out once their usefulness had passed.
Perhaps I should try harder.
I now have only 99 more to go until 300 sentences.
I now have only 98 more to go until 300 sentences.
A feathered dinosaur hopped lithely along the window sill, striking terror into the hearts of ants and beetles moments before their annhilation.
I do it all for my cat.
In the most sorrowful of times when you find no vowels upon your rack, find comfort in the almighty crwth.
They should have stopped while they were ahead, but when exactly was that?
He was her everything, she was his almost.
I suppose the blame lies with me for phrasing that last demand in the form of a question.
Heaven seems to hate the pig, but I can never consider eternity without bacon to be paradise.
I realize that I am no longer a hep cat, but could someone please tell me why ABBA are dressed like extras from a Howard’s End remake?
Einstein bemoaned the age of disco believing it to be responsible for the present decline of western civilization, but Schrodinger’s cat thought disco a good thing and that retro dance clubs a great place for a cat to get himself some sweet pussy, but Einstein couldn’t buy into that argument, and he thought that no one would really dance to disco beats of Pink Floyd covers no matter how snappy they were.
On the way out of Pineville the traveler will notice an old billboard just beyond the KFC that reads, “Their bitter blood sleeps restlessly in the earth”, and if they are wise they will listen to the advice of Rev. Downy and stop at the roadside chapel a moment to pray, and hope the sign isn’t talking about chickens.
Sometimes when something ordinary happens around the house—like running out of ketchup or the batteries going dead on a remote control—my son and I will pretend to be in agony and yell, “Welshy!”