Now I know why my heart is ailing — not enough, not too much!
Tag Archives: satire
Citrus good for the palette
From my niece:
Hello,
http://rottenappal.com is the website that I make images and photoshops for! It’s a strictly satire website about ASU news and other news!
Love you,
Maggie
Who’s colder?
Who’s colder? You or Callan Gray on location after a snowfall? Julie’s ice crystal necklace has the answer.
What if the Chinese space program suffered an unexpected setback?
Don’t mess with Hello Kitty!
Bumper sticker du journo.
Seattle’s best…cornbread???
Who will design and build offworld Levittowns?
When you know what your friend doesn’t…
Let’s, for the sake of argument, call this a hypothetical situation:
Imagine you’re a hiring manager looking for technical talent.
You spot a young man who’s smart but whose social appearance needed refinement.
You hire him.
You groom him for advancement, hoping he’ll take your job position one day.
In the process, you learn about his hobbies, meeting his wife, who expresses interest in the same hobbies but only in support of the husband.
You change jobs, recommending your exemplary employee to advance to your managerial job and he gets it.
Years pass.
You start taking dance lessons.
At a group lesson, you see a woman with a boyfriend and you tell yourself, “Hmm…she has the same name and face of my former employee.”
“Excuse me,” you ask, “do I know you from somewhere?”
“No,” she insists quietly but emphatically, “I don’t believe we do.”
You write it off as coincidence.
A few months later you go shopping with your wife out of town.
You see the boyfriend of the woman in the group dance class. He glances at you and is gone before you can speak to him.
Then you see your former employee who confirms his wife is there.
You see her with the husband, put two-and-two together, realising the secret rendezvous you witnessed between her and her dance class partner.
You give her a knowing wink and nod.
She nods in slight shock and waves you goodbye without saying hello, seeing that you might spoil a good thing.
You blog about the secret in semianonymous language, assuming that no one involved will read this anytime soon.
Life goes on…
Love makes the world go ’round.
Affairs de la coeur keep one sane and one’s spouse innocently happy?
Oak leaves, river rocks and green grass
What does a body mean to you?
Last night, I sat on the toilet to take care of business, reached for the toilet paper and was attacked by the sping-loaded mechanism of a toilet paper holder. Like the proverbial spring-coiled snake in a can.
Needless to say, the toilet paper proceeded to roll across the bathroom floor, conveniently stopping on the pool of coffee I had previously spilled and promised myself to clean up after my job in the loo was finished.
Is there a medical study that show the longterm effects, positive or detrimental, of the short-term exposure of caffeinated toilet paper wiped where the sun doesn’t shine?
Speaking of which, did you know a nut institute (as opposed to an institute for nuts) sponsored study was released to the public showing the positive healthy effects of eating nuts?
Or the poll sponsored and administered by a polling company that shows polls are good for polling the public?
Lastly, whilst cheering for my favourite football team, wishing against hype and recent trends that they’d score more points than their instate (as opposed to testate) rivals, I realised that the men out there on the field had been heroes to me in my youth and inspirations to me in my middle years.
Secondly, if not first to next to lastly, I understood the unique situation in which I find myself entrusting my words and body with one woman without involving a sexual relationship is new and most unusual to me, opening up avenues of fictional territory to explore.
More as it develops…
– – – – – – – –
Thanks to Knoxville Police; El Coyote restaurant; Zach and more at Applebee’s; Sevier County wrestling team running the Petro’s concession stand; the Variety Shop; Gail and more at UBC; University of Tennessee; Hampton Inn…
When Irish eyes are hypermiling
There was a time, afore his nuclear stress test, not knowin’ what his heart was a’sayin’ that Lee took eternity as a given.
He danced like there was no tomorrow.
He flirted like the beautiful dame in front of him, friend or foe, male or female (fuh-MAHL-eh), was the only game in town.
He cherished the moments when Bai drove her elbow into him, sending him into a new bliss, an unexplored territory, an endorphin rush of pain that took him into un/subconsciousness, forgetting the seconds on the clock, losing himself in the foreverness of forgetfulness, her derriere pressed against his left cheek, her body pushing a knot in his muscles, not a skin ailment, into oblivion.
He danced with Kelly. He looked at Patrick’s face for permission. They both agreed he had the room to maneuver, to make his way out of Bai’s chamber of happy pain and into the room of traditional Irish bliss.
Karen held his hand for a brief marital instance, reminding Lee that he had a wife who wanted, not demanded, a West Coast Swing dance on a evening dedicated to the monetary support of military veterans transitioning from government to civilian work conditions.
He thought outside of time, reminding himself that the dance lessons with Bai and Stacy were two-hundred years away from his time with Guin taking care of Martian settlers intent on making a go at building a sense of community on another planet, when the difference between a naturalborn Earthling and a synaesthetic Martian was indistinguishable but recordable.
Lee passed a palm in front of his face.
He remembered Guin.
He remembered Bai.
He remembered Karen.
He remembered Kelly.
He passed through his thoughts his friends and lovers, his dance partners and academic study partners with equal aplomb.
Despite the fermented products that had passed through his system in an evening of whiskey/whisky tasting, he steadied his thoughts.
Gamma rays out of collapsed star systems equated to education systems out of whack with the times.
He separated the Zeitgeist from the poltergeists and geysers.
He dismissed comets from cupids and Donner Passes from blitzkriegs.
He pressed his palms together and calmed himself.
He removed himself from the equation.
It was not about him.
Suddenly, the room filled with light.
He saw Guin in anguished pain, concerned not only about herself but her family.
He was no longer alive.
The universe filled the room, extinguished the concept of self.
A phrase entered, saying, “Transferring from: Rick01. Do not disconnect your smartpen.”
A power setting requested permission to continue.
An Irish band disbanded for the evening.
A Martian settlement waited for the next moment.
Lee briefly reappeared, showing himself to be real, the universe part and parcel to the event.
Guin wanted support to know her place 200 years later was secure, if different.
Lee and Time agreed.
Bai nodded.
Karen slept.
The cats snored.
All was right, if only briefly.
A football team rested, its future in its hands.
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Thanks to everyone at Jackson Center; Huntsville-Madison County Public Library; Sonic; Dr. Brooke and Marjorie at Gleneagles Family Medicine; Dr. Staup, Mary, and Amanda at SE Eyecare; Dr. Pugh, Amanda and Linda at Artistic Dentistry; Abi the miracle worker massage therapist/sadomasochist/friend.
treetrunkdings 