I tripped over my feet when jogging last Thursday, shattering my phone screen and spraining my wrist in the process. But something happened the next afternoon to make my plight more endurable.
I’m still trembling. Thanks to everyone who looked at a draft this week and talked me through this.
You know the old Steven Wright joke, right?
Last night I went to sleep, and when I woke up, everything I owned had been stolen and replaced with an exact replica(r).
There are wretched, awful, sulfuric pits of Gehenna food puns on the other side. Count yourself among the warned.
Face it, some people are just funny. Butchers are funny. Tuba players are funny. Line cooks are cut-ups, especially when they start swearing at each other in Spanish and implying undue familiarity with family members and/or produce. Trauma nurses have a bracing gallows humor that knocks me backward every time.
And plumbers just… plumbers, man.
The voice recorder is janky, so my articulation suffered. Chichibio. Enjoy!
I am, at this very moment, nibbling on a small piece of cheesecake a friend brought me. And not just cheesecake. GOAT CHEESE cheesecake.
Dear reader or two. The following post contains a substantial amount of recreational profanity and runs slightly longer than the attention span of a typical online reader. Your indulgence honors me.
The game was called, “Hey Jenny.” Billy Z invented it, Billy C indulged it, Other Bill played along, and, as ever, I was hapless, goofy, and honored to be along for the ride. Continue reading “…I Use ‘Breadcrumb’ as a Verb”
“The Little Speech” is my last line of defense. Last night, it held.