Youth passes like a clung autumn, left behind when the last day of school is abandoned.
Snow days are forever.

“…School’s out forever…”

“They’re falling down like a domino…”

The problem with debt is temporal: the future is obligated to the past. But unless the debt is for future’s benefit, why should they undertake past’s burden? Rather, future protests, and righteously defaults. But then what is past to do: what motivation for goodwill, if they are merely enacting their replacement?

“…All the kids in the marketplace say…”

Thus passes Machiavelli, done in by a supermajority of past and future.

“…Walk like an Egyptian…”

Saw King’s Speech, the natural progression from My Fair Lady’s satirization of linguistic distinction in social strata: can a speech therapist make royalty sound like royalty? But I can’t help myself from considering outrageous unintended parallels: George son of George, unexpectedly ascending to highest power ahead of his elder brother, thrust into a geopolitical war against a charismatic madman, and crippled by an inability in language usage.

I wasn't sure whether to refer to as a friend or a friend's roommate. It's in between, like, half-a-friend. Like, J[], before we had our bad poetry bonding moment.

The right and wrong way to communicate.

Already pillaged her recycling bin: it’s what she would have wanted.

You got to be careful about falling in love with trash cans.

“I once forgot my bookbag at Olive Garden, but that doesn’t make me the mayor of Italy.”

The many flavors of theta.

“Long time no see / Long time no say…”

Being nice is the gateway to being sneaky.

“…And your capital letters keep me asking for more…”

Every website is at most 6 links from Kevin Bacon’s wiki page.

“The Huey Lewis Show” isn’t just funny, but also therapeutic, when the audience prompt, for a newspaper headline they will never read, is “Chicago Beats Green Bay”.

DC is so not the city to move to if you need a winning football team to stick around.

The Iceberg.

If this makes no sense it’s because I really am running out to buy lettuce.

Submitting a recursive metaentry feels like phoning in a guilty pleasure, but a SI single is a SI single.

DreamMe writes DreamRecLetters for DreamJobs.

Do we blame the chili, or do we blame the bowl? Let’s blame the bowl.

Wait, no, stop. You insist that you can’t reveal who the last 2 were, right after you mention that he visited you and she visited you, and you know I’m clever enough to figure this out, and you think this counts as not telling anyone.
“I’m not saying anything.”
I don’t know anyone who can lie to themself better than you.

Happy birthday, I got you a hint.

It’s almost as good as how instead of directly inviting me to visit, you call me up and complain for an hour about how all your college friends who visit you wind up having sex with your boat or high school friends. Fine, I’ll see when I can come by.
“Wait, no, stop. I have to go build an attic.”

Plan B: I crash asleep early and hopefully stave off whatever I’m coming down with.

Back from escortry, with a SI single.

"I'd like to write a crossword with you.
Oh, wow. I don't know what to say. I mean, yes, of course, but shouldn't we discuss marriage first?

Packing, in the non-firearms sense of the word.

In the words of Genesis 1, calling it a day.

“There goes another night…”

Multiplication is hard.

“…Through these hard times…”

The closest thing to cat food is scones.

Dogs are funny. Neither you nor I would willingly, let alone enthusiastically, eat salmon, garlic, and bananas together.

“You know I’ve got to be more than this…”

Reason is in twilight: advantage and interest have reached their paradoxical limits. There is no incentive for optimality. Society cannot self-sustain, not constructed within a a set of negative loopholes. And so rationality goes the way of faith; statistics and economics and psychology become alchemy and astrology and parapsychology.

“…The more you think, the less you act this way…”

Fake it till you make it.

“…The fake sound of progress…”