Tag Archives: words

Kobe or not Kobe

Wrong Kobe, in more ways than one.

Wrong Kobe, in more ways than one.

The signs were there, if one was enlightened enough to see them. You know you’re in a classy restaurant when the waiter hands you a game piece that reads “DO NOT OPEN” and tells you that you just might win $25,000. Also, this meal was going to be a golden opportunity to earn “triple points.”

Yep. Classy. No John Dory. No risotto. No Gordon Ramsay. Just class.

I ordered the “signature” steak but, alas, it was a rip off. There wasn’t even any writing on it!

I was about to leave to find a real restaurant that served a taco with a strip of bacon or “mighty” wings, but then I noticed something else on the menu.

A “Kobe” burger.

Shit. They sure know how to bring the full-court press. My buttocks clenched, which is just about the only defensive play I know.

Kobe.
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You Don’t Know Polite

politenessWhy does shit like this happen to me? (This is my version of the “dark and stormy” night opening as a literary device.)

My wife and I were out to dinner and having our usually jolly time. Things were clicking. My jokes were firing on all cylinders. I was witty. Our repartee was fast and furious on a highly intellectual level.

As we exited the restaurant I was feeling pretty good. (It could happen.) I saw four people behind us. They were far enough back that I could have let the door close and no slight would have been perceived. I decided to be nice and waited to hold open the door.

They came through single file. As she passed, the first person actually said, I kid you not, “Thank you.”

Wow. It’s a modern day miracle. I’m now that much closer to sainthood. I was momentarily stunned and at a loss for words. As quickly as I could I responded with, “You’re welcome.”

Oops. By then the third person was already walking by. She heard what I said and turned and looked at me. With dagger eyes. Of hatred and death.

Ah. She thought I was talking to her and assumed I was being snotty because she decidedly did not bother to say thank you.

Good intentions: 0. Crass misunderstandings: 1.

Bad form, Mr. Smee. Bad form.

And now some politeness tips from yours truly.
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Candy Crushing

candy-crushHey, have you heard the latest? There’s a game called Candy Crush Saga for your handheld device.

Behold! I give you the ultimate evil in the galaxy!

I installed the damn thing once. By doing so I think I earned a few “Dino bucks” in my dino wranglin’ game, but that’s another story.

I opened the game and played a level. I found the motif totally inane and annoying. The game itself was vapid and uninspired. I said to myself, “Hey, self! Isn’t this game just a rip-off variation of those 42 million other games where you match and line shit up so more shit will fall down?”

I promptly deleted it from my device. What a stupid piece of shit, I thought. Luckily I’ll never have to hear of it again.

Wrong!
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Hyppo and Critter: The Snot Heard Round The World

Hyppo and Critter

And a bonus from the Hyppo and Critter archives…
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Words Matter #comic

right-comic

Too Many Words

Like Mozart with his “too many notes” I have been shamed by the assertion that my heretofore writings contain, and I quote, “Too many words.”

The charge, bitterly leveled by my otherwise serviceable spouse, had placed me in the uncomfortable position of scheming the proper retort.

Thus quote the author, “.”

finis

Bullshit

Image source: A Crafter At Sea.

Tip: Always aim for subtlety in the subject lines of your blog posts. Thoughtfully I have provided an example. Those subjects lines are like little windows to the soul. Of your blog posts.

“Bullshit.”

The driver’s side door on my car doesn’t open from the outside. You might think that sucks but to me it’s just one of the innumerable realities of my existence. So my routine is to enter the car from the passenger side, start the engine (a 50-50 proposition) and lean across and unlatch the door, pushing it out gently and hoping against all hope that it doesn’t click shut again, thus forcing me to go back and repeat the process, something I like to call “the Sprinkles on Top.”

Soon even this reality will be denied to me. The handle on the passenger door feels like it is about to fail in exactly the same way. After that I’ll have to get inside by crawling through an air duct or something.

Anyway, that’s how, every morning, I find myself getting into my car with the engine running and the radio already turned on. And, more often than not, it is usually tuned to the local public radio call-in talk format show on the station I was listening to the night before.

The other morning I slid into the spaceship (that’s what I call my car) and a word from the radio pierced my consciousness.

“Bullshit.”

Okay. You have my attention. I paused to listen. Did I really just hear that?
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