"...it's like Will Rogers, Jean Shepherd and some grumpy Jewish man all rolled into one."

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Second Chances

Call me Ishmael. Do not text for it costs me extra.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. So insists the Chief Justice of the state of Alabama.

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. But your mother takes things to a whole new level.

riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. spellcheck useless.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair. But enough about me – how was your day?

I am an invisible man. Please “like” me on Facebook.

Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested. He lived in Ferguson, Missouri.

The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. I’m no scientist, but this seems to disprove your claims of “climate change”.

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. Didn’t you read my online dating profile before sending me a wink?

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness. I'll be back with tomorrow's forecast after this commercial break.

It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not. This “Do Not Call” list is worthless.

Mother died today. The guilt-tripping ends.

He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. Still, it was better than any eighty-four days he’d ever spent at the office.

It was a pleasure to burn. That’s the last John Grisham novel I'll ever buy.

In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. He said I shouldn't overthink things.

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they electrocuted the Rosenbergs, and I didn't know what I was doing in New York. Other than of course denying I’d ever known the Rosenbergs.

I was the shadow of the waxwing slain By the false azure in the windowpane; Surrounded by despair and gloom Trapped in my doctor’s waiting room.

The towers of Zenith aspired above the morning mist; austere towers of steel and cement and limestone, sturdy as cliffs and delicate as silver rods. Ah, there’s the Starbucks!

All this happened, more or less. Says Brian Williams.

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