Wisecracking Gloves


Whose business was it to match wit with brawn at the beginning of time? Who invented that continuum, and why do we stick to it so religiously?

Sure, it’s a spectrum that we all jump around and attempt to mold to our own desires, but there’s that balance eluding us. We stand on one foot in meditation, scrounging around in our minds to find the best descriptors for our situations. It’s possible to find it, but is it favorable? When, after the day, you’ve spent more time musing than doing, it’s difficult to feel fulfilled.

That’s why NuReady is announcing our new line of Wisecracking Gloves; for the comedian in all of us! Slip on a pair of these puppies and you’ll be the suave life of the party. Made of genuine leather, you’ll throw down the gauntlet in any social situation. Simply smash a wall or any other solid surface, and your gloves will be your comic relief.

Goon: “God, I’m so PISSED. This table will catch the brunt of my wrath!”

*POW*

Gloves: “How often do you feel fulfilled from pounding that wood?”

Goon: “All day every day. Hey ladies, I see you noticed my gloves.”

Ladies: “Yeah, they’re so manly.”

All across the nation, Wisecracking Gloves are rapidly becoming a staple at all kinds of gatherings: Bar Mitzvahs, Taffy Pulls, Ribbon Cutting Ceremonies, Little League Baseball Games, Chess Tournaments, Orgies, Parent Teacher Conferences, you name it!

Call now to order your very own pair before supplies run out!

That number is 1 (626) FUNNY GLOVE.

Again, 1 (626) FUNNY GLOVE!

Don’t delay, get your pair today!

Kerfuffle


Edna: Blunder into this, you old coot.

Phil: Who, me? It wasn’t me who smashed up the Buick last week.

Edna: You’re a coward to bring that up, Phil.

Phil: A coward? have you called me that yet today?

Edna: Probably once or twice.

Phil: Edna, I want a divorce.

Edna: I know, that’s part of your charm.

Girder


Monk: Are we building something?
I swear the girders weren’t here yesterday.

Thistle: Hm, don’t think so.
You don’t have any paint.

Monk: What’s paint got to do with it?

Thistle: Good question. Let me ask my thesaurus.
Says here a girder is like a beam.

Monk: Oh, well that changes everything.

Oh Dear


I seem to have burnt my envelope, oh dear.
Now how could that have happened?

I rolled out of bed, put the iron on a curtain,
then oh…

Now the house is gone.
Family too. Went to Pittsburgh.
I have to clean this for myself.

Well, I’ll probably just hire someone;
a contractor with a crew and equipment.

I’ll go to a hotel, eat the chocolate
on my pillow. I hope it’s filled with mint.

Sunday Sermon


Create an image with no prior knowledge and you feel the vibrance of your purest thoughts. What good is research for innate ideas? To compare yours with others? For what purpose? We’re all tuned for our own world filters, and inferring conclusions from differing views only serves to separate and dilute experiences.

If you truly wish to create, you begin with your inner image. You don’t look at your predecessors when you’re about to make something. Do you think that’s how they did it? Perhaps to understand the breadth of the craft and better utilize the medium, but not to create their own unprecedented works.

Trust your intuition and connection with whatever it is that you like to call your inspiration / muse / God. You know what feels right for your method and execution. Pursue it.

Defense of Dialogue


What is implied within a statement / a volley of statements can be richer than the content itself.

Context enlightens content as the author provides consent to their private convent.

Exposition need not occur to fill in the gaps.

Imagination is man’s most powerful tool, has been for a long time.

You Better Believe It


Bent twiggy licking finger midgets hover tomorrow, but not when the ice cream truck stalls on the corner. Never when the ice cream truck stalls on the corner.

But you know the time has blossomed when those rats reach out for their most, you know that time has blossomed.

Rugs roll themselves into Lake Superior, Lake Superior frowns upon them. Under the toe of a mighty Joe Stallion, we roll through our river walk with a mischievous grin, mischievous grin.

Cringe and throttle that barrel-necked orphan cherry.
Cringe and throttle that barrel-necked orphan cherry.

Foliage


What the hell is all this foliage doing on my part of the lawn? You didn’t understand our agreement, Fred. I specifically stated in our last town-hall meeting, and I quote: “Fred’s shrubs are a major pain in the ass and I’m going to chop them down with my blunt, rusty hatchet”. I mean what I said, Fred. You’ll find, if you haven’t already, that I am a man of my word. Now I’ll ask you one more time, just as nice as before, to banish your plants from my premises. It’s a request so simple that a chimp could comply.

Go do it yourself, college boy.

Grapefruit–Laughing


Enrage. N rage.
Roast the hidden extrovert.

Suspended below the tight rope walker,
a four-pound grapefruit–laughing.

Not for its countrymen, not for its love.
Not for its bulbousness.

For its deceptiveness and strange bitterness.

My Hamster Ball Will Not Interfere


©: However you may approach this situation, I assure you my hamster ball will not interfere.

ß: Yeah, I’ve heard that before. Never with a hamster ball, but the scenario has definitely presented itself in one form or another over the years.

©: Like what? Emotional distress?

ß: Occasionally. It has also manifested itself as hypochondria, rabies, testicular cancer, octopus ink, test-tube babies (twice), and a whole slew of times I was told that granola bars were none of my business.

©: Wow, that’s harsh. Granola bars should be everybody’s business.

ß: Yeah, I quit that job after two weeks.

Tell Me You’ve Got Something Better Than That


Tell me you’ve got something better than that.
You don’t?

Well, what do I have to do to furnish this apartment?
You’re turning my Sunday into a joke.
Don’t you understand the necessity of professional moving companies?

No, don’t give me that. These guys are bush league.
A mover in his prime has six years in the minors under his belt
before he so much as touches a corrugated box.

No, forget it. Do you see how Blue Cap Guy over here lifts with his back?
Bush league.

Rhyme Time, Yo (From the Unposted, Previously Unfinished Annals)


So here’s the gist, here’s the deal.
We have a lot of people making their spiel

about a guy who really didn’t do much in his life
aside from the living part, the kids and wife,

for what reason? He didn’t want to be ridden with guilt
and approach conversations on six-foot stilts.

He wanted peace, he wanted quiet, the kind of space to think,
in a world of vast opinion where individual liberties shrink

into untold recesses of ill-defined emotional junk.
So he grabs for his childhood, that meaningless chunk

setting him up for an average haze;
and now this last line rhymes with days.

Grande Espresso Ring


A tall man wearing a grande espresso ring stole my attention from a tarpaulin-wearing socket wrench-eating groundskeeper.

Where the distinction crosses my overworked plane still lies in the forbidden zone, though I surmise someone kept their turtle bracelet a day too long.

As long as everything flips hydrophobia under invoice paneling, your undernourished calcium ducts should respond with vim and vigor.