“Sometimes I get nervous when I see an open door…”

To skydive: with parachute strapped on, take a breath and a step, and come down to earth again.

“…Close your eyes / Clear your heart / Cut the cord…”

“Let's dance to Joy Division / And celebrate the irony…”

I hate songs that have dissonant components, unless done right.

“…Everything is going wrong, but we're so happy…”

I am especially excited about the “& Tea” portion.

Let the rest follow a seat and a sip.

If I ever run a British tea shoppe, it’s going to be called Passersby & Onlookers.

Punctuators Anonymous.

I have to restrain myself from adding semicolons in casual conversation.
I put a backslash in my resume.

Serve me up a Frosted Mini-Wheat, barman: heavy on the mini, hold the frosted.

It's sad, the moment you realize something isn't perfect. I suppose I was idealizing, so I guess maybe it's good that I've shattered that now. It's like, when special guest actor returns for an episode, and it's awesome, and then the episode is winding up and character makes some plot reason why they're getting written back out, and you're like, but, can't you stay just a little longer, special guest actor? Look how much fun we're having? Can't we keep hanging out some more? Because I had forgotten how much I missed you until I heard your voice again, so why is your voice going so soon?

All children, except one, grow up.

I had to explain to someone what the bees’ knees were. Would you rather have the head of Al Gore, or use outdated expressions in everyday speech?

With A Special Guest Appearance by the Voice of Danny as Himself

Would that I wrote cover letters like I write e-mails and bad poetry.

No hamster just yet. Got some chocolate cake instead. This is a haiku.

I shall be deleting this unheard
Somewhere hours and hours hence.
Two cover letters diverged in Word,
And I- unsure which is preferred.
And yet, it may make no difference.

There is good bad poetry and there is bad bad poetry, and “B is for Bad Poetry” is 80% the former. Indeed, I wish to see a neofuturistic recital of its appreciable contents.

A long way away fling
Everything
Higher I aspired to, one spring,
Untie. (A knotty string.)

“I go crazy, crazy, baby, I go crazy…”

Crazy expands to fill the available space.

“…Packing up your stuff / And talking like it's tough / And trying to tell me that it's time to go…”

“Love game, intuition, play the cards…”

In a perfect world, forethought or luck earns reward. In an imperfect world, it’s procrastination or unluckiness. Anything wagered is with hope of compensation: put up with a risk, receive a reward of money- or prestige, or time, or a good experience, or even just learning one of life’s lessons. But reward is distinct from earning. For sometimes the best hand wins; sometimes the best played hand wins, and ranking isn’t an orderly progression based on probability.

In a perfect world, there are no games; only games.

“…Can’t read my / No he can’t read my poker face…”

Vaguely foggy is whatever the opposite of an oxymoron is.

“Heads I go to class, tails I skip.”
<coin lands heads>
“Best 2 of 3?”
<coin lands heads>
“Best 3 of 5?”
<coin lands edge and rolls under a fixture>
“God’s like, go to class already.”

The trick is to go at it with no pressure. That, and just do it anyway even when it’s not as effective or good.

“It will stop beeping if you close the door or it gets bored.”

“You’re allowed to walk out of one place. Any more than that establishes a reputation. But you get one.”

Meatloaf may be well and good and cleverly creatively savory, but clearly the answer which would make everyone happy is cupcakery.

“My perfect woman would be a 28 year old Julia Child.”

When having words with friends, informational and conversational correctness are 2 different concepts. Context can make something pedantically accurate incredibly wrong.

Taking communion is not kosher for Passover. Either transubstantiation is false, and therefore it's leavened. Or transubstantiation is true, and therefore it's risen.

Of course, a Jew can't have a happy Easter, since it contains yeast during Passover.

“For the benefit of Mr. Kite / There will be a show tonight on trampoline…”

Bouncing up, bouncing up.

“…The celebrated Mr. K / Performs his feat on Saturday and Bishopsgate…”

Thanks for inviting. It’s an honor to be asked.

“…Misters K and H assure the public / Their production will be second to none…”

We are gentlemen. So I’ve heard.

“…Ten somersaults he'll undertake on solid ground…”

Roll out, roll out.

“…A splendid time is guaranteed for all…”

“It's not worth being awake unless you are having fun or being productive.”

Bedtime story.

And they lived happily ever after probably in Chicago. The end.

It’s funny because it’s true.

A man walks into a bar and sees a nun spinning wool behind the counter. The man asks for a drink, but the nun just obliviously keeps on spinning. The man waits a few moments and asks for a drink again, but she’s just keeps on spinning. The man asks a third time, louder, but she just goes on spinning obliviously. Not sure what to do, he shouts at her to stop spinning and pour him a drink. The nun looks up and says… “This is becoming a habit.”