Guns don’t kill people. Pants kill people. A gentleman in Tennessee recently shot himself in the chin when he took off his pants and placed them on his dresser, “at which time the 25 caliber Baretta pistol in the right front pocket discharged.” You’ve got to love a police...
Household Havoc
Dem Bones, Dem Bones, Dem Dry Bones
. . . Now hear the word of the Lord. Pope Frances dusted off the bones of Saint Peter just lately and hauled them out for public veneration in a cloud of incense, which probably made them smell better. With a similar gesture, Husband just threw applewood chips on...
Oh, Sweet Buttermilk Jesus!
Fish of Girlfriend of Son #1 is still with us, despite apparent depression, fin-rot and neglect. I felt sorry for him this weekend and (once again) changed his water. He sits in my living room, after all – bad Feng Shui to have the slow-motion death of an ailing...
A Dearth of Mirth
“You really need to make time for some MIRTH,” says Husband, helpfully. “Oh?” I say, in full attack mode. “And just what is that supposed to mean? You find me uptight and humorless and dour, lately? You think I’m dying by grumpy degrees for want of a creative outlet? ...
Bite your Tongue and Pass the Velveeta
“Don’t you have a blog entry or something to do?” asks Husband, somewhat crossly. So here I am. We are looking out the patio door at the wonderful jungle of an Eden Husband has created in our small stark square suburban backyard. When he first started digging up the...