Sometimes I feel like this guy, all underground and ready to pull myself up into the unobstructed sunshine world of clean-air-possibility. Then prematurely exhausted from breaking the surface I rest my cheek on the clay gunk from which I am incompletely extracted. Exhaustion is a flaw, but resting reveals the event as an installation in the museum of eternal futility.
Before my irrational fear of flying there were gracious ladies pouring cocktails in the clouds. During my irrational fear of flying the ladies were replaced and the cocktails dried into crusty public blankets alongside innumerable snotty-sneezies. Now I specialize only in rational fears.
Who likes___? This guy! (the witless, wimpy jokester rides again)
I want paint under my fingernails and glue in my hair.
I want paint under my fingernails and glue in my hair. 
What can I do to turn this thing around? Whatever it is I'll do it. Just give us a hint. Please. 
I can't really wrap my head around how pulling Bill Richardson out before the Obama crew even takes power is supposed to reflect badly on the administration-to-be. Whether or not Richardson is found to have been connected to any shenanigans this seems to be a classier move than claiming executive privilege and immunity for all in the name of Jesus.
Richard Wolffe has an extra ~f~ in his last name. He also has a clever accent, which goes to show that people come from far-away lands to make careers out of reporting on American political goings-on. Plus, so what.
You're never too young for cardiac arrest.
In true silence watch batteries cannot exist.
Can't we learn this virtue from a more fortunate clam?
Beer is good. Try and tell me it's not.
It's delicious. Mmmm... beer.
I sometimes drink it in big gulps because it's so damned good.
Sometimes I sip it. Usually that's only if I'm really full though.
I think it's great with peanut butter on crackers, if you want to know the truth.
