Edward Scissorhands is the story of someone who can’t help cutting and poking holes in everything he loves. It’s about a cat.
Every smiling face in a conga line is pleading with you, “Please join our conga line, or we’ll feel stupid.” I didn’t start this mess. Get yourselves out of it.
When donuts appear in the breakroom. We cut one in half. We eat half. We return to the breakroom five minutes later and eat the other half. It is the way of our people.
I was at an outdoor cafe in Chicago when two tiny beetles started having sex on my table, in broad daylight, like it was no big deal. That town is going to hell.
– That last book of yours was faaan-tastic. A naked lady with a talking snake. A kid kills a giant and chops his head off. A flood murders the world! What do you have for the sequel?
– It’s about a pleasant fellow who goes around telling people to be nice.
– Hmm. Not liking it.
“Hello, customer support. How may I help you? You’re looking for a refund? What seems to be the problem?… I understand. Please hold while I direct your call to our mean person.”
I put on my Godzilla costume, then go to the miniature golf course to beat up the windmill.
What’s going on? Why does the internet keep showing me videos of people chopping wood? Did I check a box for wood chopping somewhere?
I switched from the cutting wheel to pizza scissors and it’s like I spent the first half of my life trying to shave with a banana.
I wonder if sometimes when a serial killer is digging a new hole in his backyard he ever runs into an old project and thinks wistfully, “oh yeah… that guy.”
The neighbor has a sign next to the sidewalk under his tree reading, “Caution, this tree has a history of dropping branches.” A “history”? Does this tree have a rap sheet? Is he a bad influence on my trees?
I don’t pick my nose in the car. I’m worried the airbag will deploy and force my finger into my brain.
I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. Well maybe not to the death, I have this thing on Wednesday. But I’ll give an accurate description of your assailant to the police. Over the phone. I’m not leaving a name.
I don’t believe in all your ghosts, crystals and astrology hocus-pocus unless I have a shot at you. In which case, I’m a Gemini and, my god, your aura is transcendent.
If we meet in a social situation I’ll typically take over the conversation, do a tight five or ten minutes then clam up for the rest of the evening. That’s all I got. The next two hours is on you.