They were standing on the lawn and the driveway. He thought he saw some sneaking around the side of the house. They were chanting something. He hesitated to ask his wife what it was. It sounded like “Kill, kill, kill the book.” And were those staves they were waving? They looked like staves. Where the
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Radiant sunshine bursts through the living room window with enthusiasm and the birds perched on the blossoming trees outside chirp a cheery tune. Dolly Parton is on VH1 singing, “Better Get to Livin’” and there I am lying on the floor, after choking on the first bite of my bagel, dead. Clichéd and ironic, don’t
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When we bitch and moan, Coach always goes, “There’s no ‘I’ in Team, and there’s no ‘God’ in America.” Then he makes us run laps. My parents tried to get me into the Catholic school; I passed the entrance exam and wrote an essay entitled, “My Relationship with Jesus” and everything but then they got
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Right at the end of the nineteenth century, when many people were holding their breath and acting more piously than usual (just in case God decided to end the world), a lowly young soldado near the Presidio of Santa Barbara was caught by two Indian women while he preformed a horrendous carnal act. His name
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Recently I ranted about Starbucks discontinuing almond syrup but keeping a surreal flavor called “Classic” readily available. I complained about them ceasing to serve breakfast sandwiches but keeping their store well stocked with copies of Cranium and baskets of stuffed bears. What I didn’t realize was that Starbucks was obviously making way for something much
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