Extemporaneous Scribbles

It all starts with a beginning. Yes indeed. Only at the finish can you end. But the process is what you will experience along the way. Because wherever you go, there you are. Broken bridges are in need of repair and you, yes you, are just the person to mend because you are a healer. Or, I, did I get that wrong. Do, they call you a heel. That’s right it’s all coming back to me now. They call you a heel. And  a dick. 

You can’t get peat from a tree.

Two brothers. Their story. From rags to riches and never back to rags even though they spent a ton of dough on hookers and coke. 

We’re all guilty…of something. But your crimes are the most heinous. Why? Because of the massive wake of destruction and terror and suffering you’ve left from coaching the Browns.

What’s so civil about war anyway but let me tell you something else, free writing isn’t so free. There’s ink costs, paper costs, neuronal circuitry upkeep costs, random access memory storage fees, and someone’s gotta pay for it and it isn’t going to be me. No way no how.

Middle age is a lot like a mid-life crisis but fatter.

You can get Pete from a tree though by pelting him with beer bottles. What the fuck is he doing up there in the first place?

Let’s say you are writing dialogue and you want to write about a brit talking about glottal stops. How would you do it?
                “Ey! Wha in the bluh-ee ell? Me glau-uhl stop is bluh-ee bru-al roigh?

                “Hey what in the bloody hell? My glottal stop is bloody brutal correct?”

There’s an old joke about a sailor but I’m not going to tell you the middle.

Speaking of jokes, did you hear the one about the sailor?