We are at the kitchen table eating dinner. As children do, Lisa has dropped some small bit of food onto the table by her plate. As parents do, I absent mindedly pick it up, and to deal with
Read the e-mail on its merits, Google. Mr. Slaughter addresses me as `Dear'. Would a murderer do that?
Putting hazard lights on does not give you free reign to block traffic as you will!
"Where's my wallet?!?" I check my pockets, but it isn't there. It's never there. Someone keeps cutting holes in my pockets.
The ululation has broken my concentration. "Ululate this!" I think to the smug insects. Then realising what they are ululating, "It's too damned hot."
There are some inconsistencies in my theory though. Perhaps I have not properly codified my family's misconceptions regarding the fridge. They do not fully explain my family's behaviours.
She is watching a fellow in a suit and running shoes give a speech, while I am watching dancers on a boat. "Is it Seinfeld?" I ask my mom of the man.
I think someone is removing these researchers. Killing them off. It is worrisome.
