Culled with Loving Hands from a Long-forgotten Drawer
The weeds are out shopping for homes. No one will let them buy. The real estate agents pretend that the good-school neighborhoods are open to them, but they know better.
The first step in making things fair around here is to invent a new fair language.
Because my handwriting is so hurried on the back of the lottery slip, I’ll never know if I thought he suffered from early onset friendliness or frigidness?
- Valmont McDonald, the man who was replaced by furniture.
- Her theory was this: science is a human psychosis and should be studied only through that lens.
- She mowed the lawn so well, it continued to get shorter the next day.
It didn’t matter how organized she was. The fact was that she couldn’t pee in advance. The best she could do in such situations was not drink. Needless to say, this lack of control in her life drove her crazy.
- I don’t know how to take this. Amazon just recommended “Waste Terminator Super Digester Concentrate–One Year Supply.”
- He was cursed. People only believed him when he lied.
I can’t move. Stuck like an opossum. Fear molecules swirl around me so densely, they’re like a sweater in the air, making it impossible to walk or talk. Now I understand those dreams I have about my legs not working.
- Down the highway they form a convoy. Giant combines and tractors with enormous tires that defy purpose outside of a Transformer movie slowly converge. Miles of them. Farmageddon is here.
- When I was young I heard stories that were so powerful they left footprints in the carpet by my bed.
After picking up a new air freshener for the car, she unwraps it, loops it around her rear view mirror, and begins to drive. As she leaves the city and reaches the open road, the fumes begin to affect her. She can’t believe it. She starts to cough and gag. Even when she rolls down the windows, she can’t stop salivating. She attempts to pull over, but construction has closed down the shoulder. She looks around but can find no turn offs. She has no choice but to stick her head out the window as she continues to drive, vomiting wildly. It cakes to the side of her car, hits the car behind her. In the next scene, she enters the house, pale and closed lipped, trying to find a mint.
- Sorry, dude, I set my alarm clock for the wrong day.
- When women fear they are about to be killed, they often protect their breasts with their hands, one for each.
- Let me be clear: just because I am speaking kindly of him now, at his funeral, doesn’t mean I’d want him to rise from the dead.
Last night a man bragged to me about his soup, bean soup, and, you know what? I think I was impressed. Who am I kidding? I was impressed.
When talking to him, the mundane is always punctuated oddly and unexpectedly by the revelation of past sin. His stories of his evil past spring up like mushrooms in the landscape of our conversation. I never know which are poisonous. I have to lick his stories carefully and then wait a few hours to see if they give me cramps.