They just keep happening.
I just spent way too much money
(okay, it wasn't as bad as it could have been)
on textbooks for fall.
Granted, I only had the course list for two classes, but still.
It's a heart attack I'd forgotten about.
We're going to start cycling back through our games for awhile
until I think of a new game.
Or get tired of games.
All bets are off as to which will happen first.
I think we'll be okay, though,
as long as I don't start matching interpretive dances to book covers.
Today's game is going to be
the one sentence story game again.
Because I like you all,
I've come up with two alternative one sentence stories
for each book.
You can pick your favorites
or come up with your own.
Ten thousand Books Blog points to the best title.
The jury was unanimous:
the cricket would get two years with possible time off for good behavior
for repeated noise violations,
and there was nothing Mr. Hardcase, his lawyer, could do about it.
As far as secret covens went,
the chipmunks thought this one was pretty lame;
there weren't any good rituals or imposing costumes
and there were never enough refreshments to go around.
Mr. Biggles smiled;
his plan was in full sway and soon no one would know
what had happened to the girl or the palm tree.
It was only once she started dancing
on top of the Tiki Tiki Latte Mojito Island Bar's awkward palm tree stage
the Carlotta realized with a horrified intensity
that Hawaiian print dresses had gone out of fashion last season.
Sure, gravity would always be there,
but Carlotta reasoned,
to go for a truly retro look,
one had to defy it every so often.
It had always been Mr. Biggles' life long dream to play the oboe;
sadly, between his mother's fascination with bellows,
forced childhood accordion lessons,
and Feathers McCoy's loud squawks,
no one would ever learn of his musical prowess.
Her first thought upon seeing the electric horse
was not to fear for her life,
but to wonder if she had turned the electric oven off.
Donner's Escape had never seen as beautiful
a mare before as the electrifying beauty across the field
and he instantly regretted his committed relationship
with Mama's Misery.
Deep down, in the secret depths of the lair,
they feasted and plotted the night away:
the dog would never know what was coming.
Poker night was a lot more exciting
now that Jerry had a new job;
sure the family only paid him in cat treats,
but it was far better than playing for dead flies.
In totally unrelated news to any of the rest of this post,
I just now realized that if you abbreviate
Books On My Parents' Shelves
you get BOMPS.
This cracks me up.
I have no clue why.
It sounds like the word for when
someone hits their head
on a bookshelf.