I think it would make it easier to tell the male squirrels from the females if one of the genders had enormous breasts.
I think the only time I’ve been terrified in the last 20 years is inside a New York City cab.
I bet if Bethany starts charging $50 for a copy of student transcripts, the school will have a couple million by June. Just sayin’…
I bet there would be fewer cannibals if there were a rule in place where they had to eat themselves first.
There is a scratch in the paint, in the stairwell to our condo, that looks exactly like a weasel. Am I the only one to notice this?
I remember in 8th Grade student newsletter, Mr. Pommé being interviewed, and he said his favorite ice cream flavor was broccoli Rhubarb Crunch. He was a horrid man, but that’s the most creative ice cream flavor I’ve ever heard of. Ben & Jerry’s should get that one in their repetoire.
Speaking of Don Ryall, every year for my birthday, he’d ask if I liked carrot cake, and I’d say, “No. I hate it.” And he’d proceed to buy me a half-sheet of carrot cake from Costco, and present it with a Mary Engelbreit card with Pinocchio on it that says “May someday you be a real boy.” Which I also hated.
I feel a little ashamed because I want Bethany University to close its doors. I recognized my feelings yesterday, as the same ones a person would have if they discovered an abusive parent were in the hospital, dying of cancer.
when I was young, I thought “company” meant chocolate pudding because one night, my mom said we were having company for dinner, and that night, we had chocolate pudding. If only more company were chocolate pudding.
If I wanted to see train wrecks, I wouldn’t watch CNN, but The Jersey Shore.
I heard the definition of the southern dish “scrapple” the other day: All the parts of the pig that weren’t good enough to put into a hot dog. How’s that for appetizing?
When Daniel was four years old, he got in trouble for trying to teach the dog to whistle.
Why are people proud that Bethany University are on MSNBC today? It’s a little like having a celebratory toast because a drunk driver narrowly missed killing several pedestrians.
People and things are not always what they appear to be, so keep your big fat mouth shut. Not directed at anyone, except possibly myself.
What if the transgender person who tried, but failed, to be accepted by your congregation was actually Christ returned, in disguise?
For my 42nd Birthday, I got Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Baked beans, Spam, Spam, Spam and Spam. Yes, 8 cans of spam and one can of baked beans. I think we’re down to 6 cans now. Alex will eat it. I can gag it down. Judi is still laughing at me. Daniel won’t even be in the same room as Spam.
I watched an episode of Mythbusters where they tested whether or not cabin fever was a real, clinical diagnosis. They locked Jamie and Adam, alone, into a hotel room for a week each. It’s my life goal to be a test subject in that kind of experiment.
After an hour of considering it, life is WAY to short to eat Broccoli Rhubarb Crunch ice cream.
Christians overuse, and misuse, the word “miracle”. Let’s call something miraculous when it’s truly miraculous. Not just when an unlikely occurrence tends to favor a future that you prefer. We reserve the word “coincidence” for things on that list.
Have I offended enough people yet?
Keys are a weird concept. People who value things need keys. Even your car key: it’s not really to start the car, but to keep someone else from starting your car. How would the world be different if we didn’t need keys?
Hickeys are disgusting. ‘Nuff said.
Before she became a writer, Flannery O’Connor was famous in rural Georgia because she taught a chicken to walk backwards. That, my friends, is fame.
Enough thoughts for one day. See y’all soon.