George’s dog, Lance, was not amused. Neither was Eric’s dog, Lance.
George Orwell is buried up to his waist at the beach because: a. that’s the way he rolled. b. he did everything the fox told him to do. c. he mistakenly thought it would amuse his dog. d. it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Wildflowers tend to gather around this triffid disguised as a tree because it tells such wonderful stories.
Here’s to – Nora the barnacle goose – Skin-the-Goat – the giggle fit of bronze by gold – the blind stripling piano tuner tap tap tapping along – the dog’s rag of wolf’s tongue redpanting from his jaws- Stephen deep in thought strolling on Sandymount Strand – socks with skyblue clocks, jaunty – Plumtree’s Potted […]
1. Prunella Scorn, clothed in bits of hedge, stood before her mirror practicing sneers. 2. Asa Bramble was conflicted as to what to deal with next, the body parts or the snowman. 3. Gentleman Jim Bellflower lowered his head and charged into the mastodon. 4. On a bright sunny morning, David Klim rotated his tires […]
agony bliss rinse repeat
I kind of worshiped her. I did worship her. Mickey Donovan, narrator of Dreaming Baseball, remembers.