The Password’s Lasagna.

I learned how to lie when I was seven years old.  There was a boy in my class who I hated. I’m not a name dropper, so I’ll just call him...“Jeremy”.   “Seven years old!” You say, aghast, “and you already hated someone?   Whatever for?”   I’d love to give you a great answer, but it was probably for a very inconsequential reason.   Possibly because he’d apparently made it his goal to throw a huge ball straight at my curly side-lined head every time all the kids except me played dodgeball (I remember sitting to the side and trying to convince teachers that no, I really did not feel left out, and no, joining the game would not make me feel better).    Or maybe it was because he liked to dip goldfish crackers in Koolaid.    Or maybe I took a random dislike to his haircut.    Whatever reason, just trust me.   I really hated this kid.    He made my upper epidermal layer do unnatural things, like crawl.   ...

Be true to yourself.    You:  “Self, don’t lie to me, did you eat allll the ice cream last night or did you share one tiny spoonful with your dog?”   Self:  “I ate it all but I let him lick the container.” You:  “Oh really?” Self:  “...After I licked it.” You:  “Thank you for your honesty, Self.”

Overheard today...  Gruff-voiced, flannel-clad old man, in backyard, shouting towards the house:   “Got that match ??  And the butter spray ?”  It’s grilling season, my friends! Also, there’s a certain melodiousness to those words which inspires me to burst out into a spontaneous song of beauty:   Yo!  Got that match and the butter spray?   I’m gonna fire up the grill today. The wimmen work and the children play,  But I’m gonna cook dis meal my way - Meat on the grill an’ meat in mah mouth, Meat’s all I eat and it’s... Headed south... Wimmen like ice cream and spinach soufflés, But a man eats meat all the time, always. Real men grill and it gives ‘em a thrill,  There ain’t nothing hotter ‘cept a lighter fluid spill, You can say I won’t but I say, I will!  A real man’s always got time to kill.   (And cows to grill, baby.   Uh huh.)   Yo, we’re gonna eat like kings t...

Some people live life on the edge.   They walk the line.   They waltz with death every day and look him right in the eye even when he steps on their toes.   They are truly aware of their humanity, and yet they rise above it and somehow, again and again, conquer mankind’s greatest dread.   And then... there are people who get their thrills from dropping and regaining a craisin without dying in a head-on collision during their commute home from work.   Not gonna name anyone specific, but let’s just say, at least it wasn’t only a stupid peanut

Spring, and love, are cruel to geeks.

Dream big.    Just try not to dream big monsters, if at all possible.   

Yesterday, a coworker ate someone else’s sandwich.  Actually, she ate part of it before noticing the mistake, and then...well...let’s just say, she ate the rest of it because, what can you do at that point?  I never found out whose tummy the sandwich was originally supposed  to inhabit, or what their reaction was, but the whole incident did trigger a host of territorial instincts I never knew I possessed.   For example, I now bring my lunch to work in a Tupperware with my name on it, kept inside a cooler with my name and telephone number on it, kept inside a padlocked paper bag with an ominous warning printed on the side in blood, which I keep inside my car until the moment I am ready to consume food, and my car is kept locked, and I keep the key on my person at all times.  Also, I have installed a motion sensor on each of my car’s mirrors, which signal me if anyone approaches within fifty feet.  If they come nearer than that, an automatic switch is acti...

I was going to talk about statistics today, but then the Bald Man walked by and distracted me. Yes, the same one. But I’m not afraid for my life or anything. Not at all. Anyway, he did you a service because statistics are boring. For example, it’s not even remotely exciting that someone with an iPhone has viewed this blog over four hundred times since its miraculous birth.  Nope.  It’s sad, really.  I’m picturing this lonely little person, standing in line at a major department store, holding an 85 pound basket of dry goods, arranged most cannily to discretely cover several shameful sanitary items.  (Like...gasp...“Debrox”...which is a thing that removes ear wax.  From your ears, I assume.  I probably shouldn’t have mentioned an actual brand name on here because of copyright laws, but I’m sure if they find out they’ll be glad to sponsor me: Is your family tired of yelling directly into your ear via megaphone to get their complaints heard?Has your doc...

Not that we’d want them too.  But, I mean.

Last week we talked about misfits.  This week, we’re gonna talk about Zombie Sheep because that sounds SUPER COOL.  I wish could say I coined the term, but it was actually invented by me.  (Okay, fine, it was also inspired by something a wise friend said...as is this entire post, if I’m being honest.)   Holy cow I think a bomb just went off in my neighborhood.   Must not‘ve been.  Don’t worry, Mom.   Moving on... What’s a Zombie Sheep?   Do you say it fast, like, “Zombiesheep”?   Do the cool people refer to them as “Zombaas”?   And how do you know if you’re cool enough to be one of the cool people?   Now, that’s a good question.   And, shockingly, the perfect lead-in to the rest of this essay.   Because, who exactly are the cool people?   What makes them cool?    Usually, we think people are cool because they model attributes we admire, but aren’t brave enough or smart enou...

...It’s time for the topic you’ve all been waiting for — toenails!!!  Why do people have toenails?  They seem perfectly designed to inflict pain at the slightest interference, they get nasty quicker than defrosted chicken, and they require constant care.  They’re so fragile that they break if they even see a table-leg, and yet, so strong that it takes 36 hours of intense labor to clip them.   They are fun to paint, but that is their only benefit.   PS How do men reconcile themselves to having toenails?  Do they paint them in secret?  IS THAT WHY GUYS WEAR SOCKS WITH THEIR SANDALS????  Have I just made the most shocking discovery of 2019????????  

Since I’ve got a pretty long post in store for you a little later this week (and yeah, it’s Saturday, I know...so that means in about five minutes), I’m gonna make this quick and just share with you one of my finer moments.  Possibly the most brilliant highlight of my entire career as a human, if I may say so.   Recently I was trying to center a picture on what was supposed to be today’s post.  Suddenly, my cursor...is that what the little vertical blinky line is called?  If it is, wow, what an intense name for such an innocent little thingy.  Anyway, you all know what I mean.  We’ll just call it the cursor and hope for the best.  Kay.  So, my cursor started moving.  It was traveling across the page all alone!  It had a mind of its own!  Because I’m super suspicious, my first thought was that someone had hacked my computer, since I was in a pretty crowded public place.  There were some nerdy guys in the corner who looked cap...

Can you believe I’ve published 50 article/post/comic/things on here?  I feel so prolific.  Of course I couldn’t have done it without all my loyal fans.  Thank you.  No, thank you .   On such an important anniversary in our nation’s history, what better way to celebrate than with a patriotic comic?

There are people in this world who don’t quite fit into society.               If people were puzzle pieces, they would be the unidentified extras, the empty gaps,                     the soggy chewed up pieces that fall off the table and get noshed on by the dog.    T hey live their lives feeling unnecessary, lost, destroyed.  In a world that celebrates conformity, if not uniformity, allowances are made for puzzle pieces to be different shapes, colors, and sizes. But if they don’t fit together, they’re either pounded on until they do, or thrown away.   Rejected.   Not because they’re of less worth than any other piece.  All puzzle pieces are simply shaped bits of cardboard, after all.  But because their purpose is not immediately visible.   Okay, that said, I’m not a fan of misfits, myself included.  They’re ...

I think I’m being followed by a bald man.  Either he read my blog, recognized me on the street from my highly accurate artistic renderings of myself, and is seeking revenge!   Or, improbably , it was just a coincidence that I saw him twice in one day. *shifty eyes*

I have a brand new supervisor at work.  In a day or five seconds or so, she’ll know all there is to know about all the things, but right now, she has a lot of questions.   Questions only I (muahaha) know the answer to.   The tables have turned, folks.   The minion is rising!  Power has been woken!  The supervised is supervising!   ... Basically that means I do everything everybody tells me to, but occasionally I get to sit on a stool and answer a basic question and nod and smile and feel all like Yoda or somebody smug and wise.  It’s very soothing.* *I don’t actually know exactly what Yoda does?  Or looks like?  As you might be able to tell?  But I’m pretending to be all cool and clued-in to pop culture here, so gimme a break.