loveseat

The couch, askew and disheveled, had aroused her suspicion. His flushed cheeks hinted at an adulterous guilt. Fortunately, his alibi had been palatable, and the distrust was fleeting.

Just five minutes earlier, though, and she would have caught him in the act.

His heart raced at the thought.

As she exited the room, he repositioned the couch against the wall, his hands clammy from nerves. A seam near the armrest showed the tiniest tear. One throw pillow was MIA. He tossed a quick glance toward the door before drawing his face near the beckoning cleft in the seat cushions – and whispering.

“No one must ever know of our love.”

on the eve of revolution

“I can’t see a damn thing!”

“And this stuffy air, I can hardly breathe!”

“We demand better treatment!”


Thusly would the canned goods complain to Leonard every day.

Bitch, bitch, bitch.

vuhdeskisimar de unt

Big Wuhdeski had the strength of an ox, maybe ten thousand. When he sneered at danger, his teeth squealed like the grinding of twenty ton icebergs. His fists were occasionally hailed by hurried businessmen.

Wuhdeski was, in a word, Big.

And to say he was big was to minimize his true size, to discredit the jaw-dropping spectrum of his being in favor of his admittedly dizzying body mass. Indeed, since his youth, passersby would spy his muscled bulk from afar, gliding above some bicycle shop, and ponder the occasion for a parade.

But Big was also grand. His reputation overflowed and dumped like buckets of steaming myth onto the heads of the nation’s citizens. He was an entity unsurpassed, a dauntless megalith, a planet-killing asteroid, and whispers of his feats inspired fantasies in every child.

“You know Billy,” a mother would confide, beginning herself to sway at the recollection, “if you remember not to use your sleeve, maybe someday you’ll be able to put out volcanoes. Wouldn’t you like that, to put out huge fucking volcanoes?”

But while a courageous man-mountain and character of living lore, Big was not widely considered “bright.” The marathon of webbed neurons required a five second passage from eye to brain – and from brain to mouth — so Big’s thinking was, to the untrained, witless. But Big spoke.

Big spoke slowly. The soft rumble of his voice echoed like the warmth of a chorus through a heavy wooden wall. His words wound to gradual conclusion like a giant copper plate wobble-walking to a subtle thud. But conversations occurred as required, such as a request he spackle a dam or try not to stomp. And between all who engaged Big in conversation it was agreed that, given equally massive amounts of time, Big could express a great degree of substantive thought.

Time just moved faster than Big.

Virtue

The pragmatists shrugged. Admittedly, Love just made more sense.

From the "They're Not Even Trying" Department:

Counting Crows?

That boy been EATIN' crows.

the narrative that repeats no words

too hard.

the end.

life without attributes.

“I’m horrible at dialog.”

“You and me both.”

“It starts with not knowing what to say, and then not knowing how to say it.”

“Sometimes it’s better just to not.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“Would you rather I just started talking?”

“That sounds like more of a monologue.”

“Only if you remain silent, and there seems little risk of that.”

“Ok, I’ll chime in when it seems appropriate.”

“Whatever.”

“Listen, I told you I suck at these.”

“I know, so do I.”

“Maybe I can help!”

“Who’s this guy?”

“Dude, I can’t even tell which one of us is talking right now.”

Chapter III: Student Life

"... Ever mindful of their Mormon faith, our students neither drink nor smoke when socializing. But that's not to say they don't have as much fun as other university students -- quite the contrary! Instead of playing "drinking games," our students may spend their Friday night watching the film Who Framed Roger Rabbit and, whenever the character Roger Rabbit is onscreen, doing the dance of the same name."

Vomit with a Smile

Dually perturbed was Ethel Adams, faithful congregation member and sign donor, who had thought that the naming of the messiah was pretty much a done deal.

Now you make funny ha-ha joke!

Meeting Goliath

In the parlor, a zoo had detonated.

Henry stood with mouth agape. A stuffed Kodiak reared ever-frozen with a similar (if more menacing) countenance. As Henry breathed, its nipple fogged. He fostered no envy of this creature’s luck. It had been escorted to a premature demise, and that much the monster knew. What it knew not, and Henry knew too well, was its scenario of indefinite hibernation.

For even at two-and-a-half staggering meters, the bear was nearly invisible in a sea of horns and feathers and eyes and fur. An eagle’s wing yawned across the Kodiak’s tussled midsection, and a boar’s tusk ran from underneath its armpit, jutting like a stabbing crutch. An alligator’s tail curled laboriously atop its feet. A zebra’s hindquarters obscured its right leg entirely.

Lord Beltergash’s parlor, Henry had been informed, featured some of the finest art in Britain, yet he saw no wall, let alone oil on canvas. From floor to ceiling and blanketing the lot, the bodies of beasts hung in a lifeless scream, yet Henry could see no single creature in its entirety. Each was compressed against a cluster of neighboring specimens, hopelessly intertwined, forced into the parlor’s space with such obsessive precision as to honor a macabre continuum of the recently deceased animal kingdom.

He couldn’t fathom the number of species in the modest space. A hundred, maybe several – for surely an army of beetles posed in orchard of pins behind the pelican. Henry shuddered, stumbling backwards over what was apparently – no, sure enough – an ashtray of hollowed elephant foot. His awkward reach for balance planted two fingers deep in wildebeest nostril.

He struggled to block the prying eyes and thrashing talons to address his host. “Lord Beltergash, your collection …”

A rhinoceros had just moved, surely.

“My collection,” Beltergash acknowledged, dodging a hoof.

“I, I knew not of your …" Henry cringed, "... appreciation of hunting.”

“Hunting? I find hunting disgusting!” he spat, “I’ve dedicated my life to keeping these WRETCHED trophies of MURDER out of public possession!”

It's time to PUT AWAY THE SWASTIKA COCKTAIL NAPKINS

It's almost February, for god's sake.

handcuffed to the silver briefcase

It was a tempting offer.

He too could someday own a modest percentage of nothing.

WMD search comes to end, if not completion.

"We ain't found shit!"

bowls in it

Apologetic McCartney says 'costume reveal' went awry

FCC to investigate incident at end of halftime show

(CNN) -- Singer Paul McCartney apologized Monday to anyone who was offended when his wrinkly scrotum was exposed during the halftime show Sunday at the Super Bowl.

"The decision to have a costume reveal at the end of my halftime show performance was made after final rehearsals," McCartney said in a statement.

"MTV was completely unaware of it. It was not my intention that it go as far as it did. I apologize to anyone offended -- including the audience, MTV, CBS and the NFL."

MTV produced the halftime show, which was broadcast by CBS. Both had issued their own apologies.

On Monday, Federal Communications Commission Chairman Michael Powell ordered an investigation of the incident.

An estimated 140 million people were watching the show when at the end, bandmate Ringo Starr popped off McCartney's codpiece with a drumstick, exposing his freckled ballbag.

Powell told CNN he was not convinced the incident was an accident.

"Clearly somebody had knowledge of it. Clearly it was something that was planned by someone," he said. "He probably got what he was looking for."

McCartney spokesman Stephen Huvane said the incident "was a malfunction of the wardrobe; it was not intentional. ... He was supposed to pull away the codpiece and leave a hemp G-string bearing his late wife's face."

book v. cover

"Hello?"

"Hey, yeah, the printer just dropped off that brochure, and it looks great, but this stock … it’s way too thin."

"Hrm. It should be 100# cover, so that surprises me …"

"Yeah, that’s what I thought, but this is too thin. Not what I expected at all. I mean, I’d be embarrassed to hand these out."

"Oh, well, that sounds like the printer might have used the wrong stock or there was a miscommunication somewhere along the line, but not having seen the stock myself I can’t really …"

"I’m telling you -- it’s TOO THIN."

Frantic wiggle of flaccid brochure two inches from phone.

"I mean, do you hear that? Listen …"

Wiggle increases in intensity, nearing combustion.

"Do you hear that? DO YOU HEAR THAT?!"

Patriot Casserole

2 cans (10 3/4 oz ea) condensed cream of chicken soup
2 cups half-and-half
4 teaspoons dried tarragon
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 package (16 oz) linguine or spaghetti, cooked and drained
5 to 6 cups cubed cooked chicken
1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese
paprika (optional)

In a large bowl, combine soup, cream, tarragon and pepper. Stir in the linguine and chicken. Transfer to an ungreased 4 qt. baking dish. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese and paprika if desired. Bake, uncovered, at 350° for 30 minutes or until heated through. Serve wearing American flag oven mitts.

A-List

"Jenna Jameson was the first porn star to really cross over. Like, her E! True Hollywood Story was the most watched ever."

Crime & Punishment

She anxiously awaited an important call, and before leaving had reminded him thrice. He'd heard her the first time, of course, but would remember in the future to nod more vigorously.

He'd done his appointed duty, too, answering the phone diligently, feigning sobriety, and recording the important details on a Post-It for later scrutiny.

Now she had returned, still anxious, scuttling and banking about the house. Distracted by her haste he'd neglected to mention the call -- his responsibility mechanism had been disabled the moment he'd hung up the receiver.

He heard the haphazard clogging pause, then redirect toward his whereabouts. As she approached she held the Post-It, appearing ready to stiff arm him with it.

His handwriting was a blurry mess, those two inches from his nose, as she admonished him: "I NEVER WOULD HAVE SEEN THIS."

Shovel Does Spoon's Work

Excerpted from here:

MAN CHARGED UNDER PATRIOT ACT FOR LASER

NEWARK, N.J. (AP) - Federal authorities Tuesday used the Patriot Act to charge a man with pointing a laser beam at an airplane overhead and temporarily blinding the pilot and co-pilot.

The FBI acknowledged the incident had no connection to terrorism but called David Banach's actions "foolhardy and negligent."

(emphasis added)