Sorry About the Missing Elevator

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I’ve always thought of the cliché “Fork in the road” as just a dumb expression, sort of like the phrase ‘Warranty Included,’ or ‘Free Food.’ Today, however, I was walking along, looking at the architectural nightmare of the new houses nearby, and saw why Robert Frost was so enigmatic in his bit of poetry about the road not taken. I now prance along the byways of my home, feeling like Steve Martin, as he discovers ‘Salad fork in the road,’ or ‘Dessert fork in the road.’ Something in me feels like I’ve begun to peel away the sticky layers of a complicated life, and that has made all the difference.


If you are worrying about things like the Oxford comma, please be aware that you are not the kind of social nightingale that you presume yourself to be.


BBQ-flavored blueberry pie sounded like a good idea. Sorry, everyone at the picnic.


If we ever redo congress, I would like to modify the British system slightly and have the House of the Uncommons, consisting of only weird people.


I am not saying she ain’t smart – but she blonded me with science.


I have nothing but contempt for that “Bizarre Foods” show. Compared to what I endured at the culinary hands of my mother, there is nothing about a guy eating a goat’s eyeball dipped in liver juice that merits extra attention.

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