Marching Bands Are Just Homeless Orchestras (8 page)

Had a minor confrontation with a neighbor. Now my shoes are completely covered in neighbor.

Just invented Strip Miming. I charge $250 an hour to not do it. Franchises available.

November always reminds me of Homecoming dances in high school. I think it’s the No part.

Prepping for jury duty. I want to look smart every time I object to something.

If Clifford were a Big Red Cat, everyone would be dead.

Leprechauns are freaky, but Chakakhanchauns are horrifying. If you hear the opening of “I Feel For You” in the woods, run.

And would it kill today’s rap artist to put on some colorful pants? Some of us really liked the colorful pants.

Keep slumping down in your chair. Slowly. Then, when nobody can see you, slide under table. Compose yourself. Roll out door. If you escape unnoticed, great. If the other meeting participants see you roll away, my experience is they won’t stop you.

Saturday night just logged me out due to inactivity.

For the record: a computer on its deathbed just wishes it could keep working. Family means nothing to these bastards.

Life will be less complicated once my cat learns how to tie his own bow ties.

You have to bust some moves to make a dance omelet.

I had planned to teach my robot right and wrong, but so far I’m pretty impressed with its choice of victims.

Making travel plans for my birthday. I think 1994 sounds nice.

Rude. My neighbor across the street keeps looking directly into my rifle scope.