nollaf126
I can't believe Jeff did that! He is so brassy and brazen. It's no wonder al the girls like him so much. There's nothing that rock-sacked monkey won't do. Classical Jeff, man. I sure miss him.
Beans, beans. They make a sphincter sing. Beans, beans, you know what I mean. They're magical, they're mystical. They're musical. Get yours today! Operators are standing by.
"What harm could come of it?", asked Landon. "Well, how could we even know, really? When an opportunity comes for discovery, you simply have to take calculated risks. And when you're on the brink of discovery in a new frontier in a place no one has ever been, you can't calculate risk. Sometimes you have to take that leap of faith in the name of seeking knowledge and sating curiosity, if even just for the briefest moment."
"Steer the steer toward the gate!", Jim bellowed. It looked like it was about to break through the fence and go AWOL. We really need this steer to go to market today. It's been a rough couple of years and we are going to have a tough time staying afloat if we can't keep things flowing properly and timely.
The only way I get a sequel is if I'm reincarnated. Wait, maybe I'm in my sequel, now. Or maybe I've got more sequels than Freddy, Jason, and Sharknado put together. I might really be doing all right. But how's a fella ta know?
"Let's get ready to ruumbbbbblllee," I heard from a distance. The rumbling of what seemed to be thousands of boots against hard, dusty clay, accompanied by that all-too-familiar war cry, made me wonder what in the world could be coming my way.
Everything's in recession right now, especially my hairline. It's as if it's afraid of my eyes and/or nose. Or maybe there's some unwritten facial hair law that says crazy scientist eyebrows and hairlines need to be separated by as far a gap as possible. And my brows aren't going anywhere...
Have mercy! Elvis has left the building. I always wonder which exit he goes out. It must be a super secret exit. By the very nature of needing an announcement for us to know that he's no longer in the building with us, there must have been a great place for him to have snuck away, unobserved.
Prisoner to the page. I'm asked to write. And to write without aim or qualification. I'm told it will set me and my writing and creativity free. Maybe they need not be freed. No one will know what I don't tell. Maybe I'm the one who least wants to know what I really think.
Sticking my finger in an electrical outlet may very well give my nearly brain-dead brain the very boost it needs to be able to give vent to my now-withered and sorely-missed creative outlet. A sort of recharge, if you will. Or, even if you won't.
load more entries