Category: This; And also that

  • Ah, yes. Here’s the outrage.

    you: I have to put the cat to sleep.
    me: why?
    you: he’s leaving the dentist’s poop all over the house.
    me: how does he get the dentist’s poop?
    you: I give it to him.
    she: why?
    me: yeah, why?
    you: because he’s bored. he needs something to play with.
    she: but how do you know it’s the dentist’s poop?
    you: I am the dentist.

  • Where’s the outrage?

    Am I the only one
    freaked out by all
    these blind people?
    Taking our jobs — ?
    our women — ?
    our German Sheperds?

  • Today’s big movie idea:

    A post-apocalyptic romantic comedy.
    You know, like, it’s the big first date
    and he’s all wigged out
    because he doesn’t know if
    the girl’s a girl
    or if she’s
    a flesh-eating zombie.
    Starring Mathew Broderick.
    And introducing: a flesh-eating zombie.

  • Open thread — a call for your submissions

    I’ll be gone for a couple of days, so I thought we’d try something a little differemt this morning — an open thread. The idear is that you folks keep the site crackling in my absence — overflowing with woosh! — by adding your own snippets of dialog, slices of lyric, poems, demi-poems, stories, or rants as comments to this very entry. Whaddya think? Itto? Heroic Imp? Captain Marsupial? other Dan? Folks unknown? Shall we give it a shot?
    More than one entry welcome, nay encouraged! No need to be shy, it’s just us chickens. Click comment below and…let ‘er rip.
    Enjoy! And watch the skies, -Cecil

  • August, 2004: note to self

    Waiting around for
    election day
    doesn’t count
    as an activity.

  • Poison

    She has a hard, twisted smile
    like she’s just taken poison
    and if you say
    one more word
    well, she’ll let some of it leak.
    Her jaw, it will slack
    and the venom will bubble
    oh there’ll be lots of trouble
    when she opens up that beak.

  • wandering thought

       please don't
    call
    on me.
                         I'm
    writing poetry.
  • Something to remember

    Walking is a kind of dance.
    Dancing is the only way to move.
    (this from my 6-year-old back when she was a 4-or-5-year-old.)

  • Highway Five

    I walk into the restroom
    and there are these two guys in
    there and it already stinks
    and they look at me like
    I did something wrong
    and I’m thinking hey —
    I just got here and then
    one of them leaves and then
    the other one leaves
    so now I’m all alone for
    like two-and-a-half heartbeats
    and then some new guy comes in —
    some third guy, or fourth, really,
    if you count me, and he’s
    walking right in, through that same door
    and he’s looking at me
    like I did something wrong
    and I’m thinking damn.
    I mean damn. I’m spending
    altogether too much time
    in this stinky bathroom.