Intolerably Titled Blog Post

 

The police asked me to describe the assailant.

“Visible fart” was all I could think of to say to describe him – and the police took note of it and left, evidently with such a suspect already in mind.

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“I lost my sanity,” I said. The police searched for days but could find no proof that I ever owned it.

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I was experimenting with Instagram. Under ‘recommended beauty filters,’ the #1 recommendation: “avoid the public.”

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I called the Poison Control Center out of instinct. It turns out that finding out that a close friend, co-worker, or family member has overdosed on stupid isn’t a valid reason to call them.

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There are 7,647,106,854 living people on this earth with you now. 318,750 people were born today – so far. 132,000 people have died already today. It’s impossible to imagine that one million people die each week. Yet, here we are, arguing over semicolons, sports affiliations, and whether it’s appropriate to wear striped shirts or drink white wine with pork.

 

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They tried cutting his leg off with a chainsaw, his head with a guillotine, and his hands with a butcher knife. All three cutting tools shattered in the attempt. He was a new superhero: The Indivisible Man.

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Stolen joke: “He needs to build a bridge so he can get over himself.”

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“X, it looks like you padded your work history.” The H.R. Manager of Trinity Music Publishing informed me. “We can’t hire you.”

“What gave it away?” I asked.

“It’s not so much that you claimed to have been Lead Air Guitarist for Journey. It’s that everyone knows there were no musicians in that band, real or imaginary.”

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It turns out that the phrase, “Stick a fork in it” is not literal. To the guys on the other softball team, my apologies. You sure didn’t sound like winners, though

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If you believe that everything happens for a reason, can you please explain your fashion choices? From my point of view, it looks like the definition of either ‘random’ or ‘lost and found box.’

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Overheard Strange Conversation: “…sir, I don’t care who you are, the Lactation Area isn’t for ‘interested observers.’ ”

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In lieu of spending a night in Branson last night after seeing Reza the Illusionist, I reserved a place in Monett, Missouri. We chose a Tex-Mex place to eat, one which was deceptively large inside. We had to circle the establishment more than once to dart into a recently emptied parking spot. Even compared to the eateries we left behind in Branson, we ate like kings. Though the idea of a night in Monett sounds like a premise to a joke, it turned out to be a fortuitous and interesting place to stay. Downtown seemed to be dipped in another time. It was obvious to me that someone was diligently attempting to breathe new life into its streets. Perhaps some of the charm derived from the lengthening shadows as daylight diminished. It’s a place I would love to spend a few mornings walking the pre-dawn streets. Returning to the hotel, we were astonished to find that the wi-fi supported our FireTV. I had packed it on a whim. We watched the shirtless comedian Bert Kreisher, laughing at his stupidity and insight. And so it came to pass that I pondered that I would somehow remember spending the night in Monett, for delicate and inexplicable reasons which sound a little odd to anyone listening.

 

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