A Severe Thunderstorm Warning has been issued. You're filled with terror. You start to panic, knowing you and your family are unprepared. You never thought this could happen to you. Only those suckers on TV. You're too smart. You wear clean pants. Mother Nature doesn't care about your clean pants. And now, in a mere thirty seconds, she's going to bring down all of God's Fury, right on your head. Piercing Rain. Shattering Thunder. Hail that's as ugly as it is round. And sharp, too. As soon as you make the wrong move - ZAMM! Lighting strikes you straight to hell. "Why didn't I listen? Why didn't I prepare?" Wasting time asking yourself questions you don't have answers for. You had the brochures. You knew you should've bought extra batteries for the emergency radio. That you should've filled...
I cannot tell you what we do on the Special Hat Commission until you join.
It's worth it. You get stickers.
With every Piñata I've ever destroyed, I first took a photograph of it, prior to the party.
These were Polaroid photos, so no store clerk developer had to know I took them. I wrote the names, ages and astrological signs of the Piñatas on the lower section of the photo and carefully affixed them into an unassuming album I keep near the bed.
Oh beat them I did, with total fury. When I was done most of the candy was inedible. Children's tears flowed into a river.
But every night - even to this day - I take out the album. Turn page after page. And I apologize to each filthy Piñata. By name.
Forgive me.
Seriously considering emptying my savings and going heavily into debt to finance the purchase of an industrial farming tractor. The kind that are larger than most convenience stores and feature air-conditioned cabs with satellite radio and real leather glove compartments. I would very much like to drive it, at full speed, which is probably no more than 10 MPH, and that's with the wind at your back, up and down the side streets of my neighborhood. I would do so for the better part of the day - I would never farm anything - occasionally stopping to demonstrate the electric-powered automatic mirrors and sun roof to school kids who didn't already hate me. Often I would just stop in the middle of the street blocking 51% of a person's driveway leaving them livid about driving over their own...
Severe Easter Basketing.
Competitive Napkin Folding.
Professional Sitting.
French Napping.
Early Morning Goating.
The Seventy Meter Cramp.
Swiss Dusting.
No Contact Hugging.
Holy Flushing.
Chapter Titles from my forthcoming book on Life After Divorce.
V's Statement Upon Buying a Magic Carpet: I pursued Magic Carpet technology for solely peaceful purposes. I bought this Magic Carpet on Store Credit. Which I will not repay. I do not find its pattern offensive. I enjoy soaring, carefree up above it all, with the angels my companions. I will use this Magic Carpet primarily to enhance my map-making abilities. It will allow me a better view of the topography and locations of any mystical creatures. Which I will warn you about on my maps. You may not borrow my Magic Carpet, for I intend to keep it with me at all times. I will conduct meetings aboard it. I will take my meals on it. It shall respond to my voice commands and will not require a steering wheel. And if I feel the most appropriate place to be during a social call is hovering mere...