This whole secure password thing is… Say I give a password to walk into my bank, and they stop me at the door. “That’s not the password, sorry. Gave you three tries. Even gave you a hint. Looks like you’ve never been here.”
Okay… How can I get in? I need to do banking. They say, “Tell you what; register a password and we’ll let you in as a new customer.” Fine. So I give them a password and they go, “Nah – You used that password last month.“
I believe it’d be within my rights to strangle them immediately.
It’s the best firecracker stand in the world! Only one has those Chinese Limb-enators and Russian Roulettes – Those are where five are dudes but the sixth one can take your head off. Hell yeah! Who gets to light that one?
Thing is you never know where it’s gonna be on account of it’s mobile. Sometimes you can hear ‘em comin’. A little guy throws Snap Crackers off the tailgate. Sometimes it’s whizzing by with a police escort behind. Never can tell. And the lucky bastard who gets to blow the stand up at midnight? Can’t wait to watch it boom!
My Vet opened this book to a full color illustration. The title: Canine Anal Glands. So I was paying her to show me drawings of dog butts.
“These are normal glands,” she explains, then laid a plastic page over it. “and this is what happens when they rupture.”
Geez. Didn’t hear much more. Words like “raw” and “puss” jumped out. Looking at the highly detailed illustration, all I could think was, how many hours did the illustrator put into this? Were reference photos provided? Did the editor know it was finished when they saw the final version and passed out?
My gardener stopped showing up. Don’t know what happened. The yard overgrew, very quickly, and before I knew it I was the one out there fighting weeds and getting pricked by dead thistle. It’s miserable work, unless you’re out there early morning, or sundown, when the air’s cool.
You know, I wasn’t even looking at the yard until I had to take care of it. Walked by, every day, and took it for granted.
So I guess I appreciate having to get down on my hands and knees and sweat. Who knows if I would’ve ever noticed anything at all.
Hello? Is this where the funeral — Great, are you the lady of the cave? Hi. First off, my condolences, hunting is a dangerous business. So, I’m an artist. I did the bison mural in the Johnson’s cave – Oh good, you’ve seen it. Yeah, we can do one of those here on your archway, really big, I’m thinking yellow ochre all across — It was a pig? Tell you what, really big pig, over there, running your husband down, and his handprint here, right before he bled out. Gives the piece that personal touch. Sound good? Great! Now, about payment…
“Stop, stop,” he joked as he exited the lobby, surrounded by fans, all adoring him from behind phone screens. By the time he reached his taxi he realized he hadn’t made eye contact with a single person.
“Tell you what,” he declared. “Who wants to grab a burger and beer? First one to put their phone down.”
They bristled excitedly. He opened the cab door and ushered anyone to step inside.
They all kept filming.
“Come on. Anybody?” he asked, hopeful.
Suddenly, a young woman leapt in the cab. He followed, ecstatic, and wilted when her phone glowed white again.
In my car at an intersection and I hear clicking, clicking, clicking all around, like gathering animals preparing to pounce. In my periphery I see traffic lights wilting in the street. I’m dizzy. Drained. The lights drift towards a lone figure, waiting to cross, unaware.
They push him.
“You like that?” They say in that crosswalk voice. More clicking. “You like that?” They say, chirping. Pushing. He lands on my car. Then they see me. Electricity buzzes all around. The car fills with heat and pulsing lights.
The crosswalk was tired of getting pushed around. The crosswalk was pushing back.