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Sorry, Obama. Only a full-frontal live-birth video with a Hawaii-Five-O drum-solo soundtrack will satisfy me.
It's rare to find someone who's both a true friend and a good writer. The fucking spider whose web I'm clawing off of my face was neither.
The sun shines on the mighty Hudson like a golden shower. Um...a bright splash of God's diarrhea? Sorry. Bathroom on the train's occupied.
8yo boys naming the fall soccer team: "Warriors!" "No, Gladiators!" "Demons!" Then..."Pretty Pink Ponies!" A beat. Guffaws. That's my boy.
Perfect 9yo Knock-Knock Joke? J: Knock-knock. Me: Who's there? J: George. M: George who? J: Well, I don't really know his LAST name....
To all the women I didn't obsessively bang, sorry for being monogamous. To my wife, sorry I'm not a rich golfer. And now, back to therapy.
This economy can't kill our 8yo's entrepreneurial spirit: "I'm gonna make up a bunch of random math problems and sell 'em for ten dollars."
Frank Sinatra weighed 15 lbs at birth. Instead of forceps, the doctor used a backhoe that Frank later buried guys with. Circle of life.
"There's a Manga in my Moleskine,"
said the doe-eyed demi-tween.
"It monetized my narrative
and mesmerized my spleen."
Oh, Plaxico, Plaxico. Why not do something sensible with that gun? Take it to your parents' house and shoot yourself in the name.
Wrote a 255-character ¶ that made me laugh. Spent 15 min. trying to cut it to 140. At 162, the funny fell out. There's a math theorem here.
There are no seasons anymore, just sudden climate mood swings.
So, Punxsutawney hired a Jungian analyst for Phil and now he's embracing his shadow. First ever groundhog Jung joke, right? People? Hey...
The boy, re his 8yo gf: "I'm telephoning Isabelle. A friendly chat. Perhaps some wine. Whiskey. A spirit or two." All this, in a Snape tone.
My boss, who always shows up when I'm on Twitter, asks, "What is it you do here?" We laugh. He walks away. Hey...was that an exit interview?
Gonna drink wine till I'm stupid. Shouldn't take long, but first I gotta decide: Axonal Shearing Pinot Egregious, or the generic Tardonnay?
Got the kid to help me plant flowers. As we're digging, he says, "This is a good father & son activity." I sired a gay scout handbook.
I just bet myself $20 that Googling "Nobody Knows The Truffles I've Seen" would unearth a chef/restaurateur/pig memoir. Yep, I win/lose.
Tuesday lesson: Govern less, pander more? http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/11/02/how-obama-saved-capitalism-and-lost-the-midterms/
Prosodist, screenwriter, hired word-gun. Father of three; master of none.