“You can run but you can’t hide” is a really strange saying to teach a kid, if you think about it.

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The salad dressing was too strong. It was raspberry vinairegret.

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They were a proverbial match made in heaven. He was the human equivalent of Axe body spray and she was a pair of over-sized reflective sunglasses.

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They asked me to say a few words about the deceased. No one mentioned that I was expected to say GOOD words. A heads up would have been appreciated.

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“Safety Dance,” for those born a million years ago, was inspired by the songwriter’s ejection from a nightclub about the way he was expressing himself through dance. Let this be a cautionary lesson to all of you as you sit at your desks, dying incrementally as the cloak of career embraces you.

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I got arrested. I thought the banner said, “Tour de French.” To his credit, the lead cyclist managed to keep pedaling.

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In a cosmic twist, he accidentally signed up for the “Write Bitter” course instead. He has nothing good to say about it, though.

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I ain’t saying she’s two-faced, but when she talks, it is in stereo.

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Word joke: If you kidnap an equestrian, he becomes a sequestrian.

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An ‘uplifting’ photo I made. Energy inevitably changes form; why not harness it?

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Given the occupant of the White House, “I can’t wait to get under the sheets” can mean wildly disparate things.

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A housekeeping supervisor’s job title should be: Neatwork Administrator.

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I’ll be playing cello with the orchestra tomorrow night. They don’t know it yet, though, so be cool.

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