Actual thought I just had while watching the Mentalist:

“Oh, please. No moderately sane witch would cast a killing spell. It would come back on her double-whammy.”

It’s possible I’ve spent too much time in San Francisco.

Things I have recently wondered about life and death because of Josh Allen:

-If my non-cremated body were shot into space, would it rot? If so, how much would a NASA-patch shroud slow the decomposition rate? If not, what are the mathematical odds my body would be discovered by alien life forms? Pretty slim, I’d think.

-Actually, I bet people use Power Point at funerals at lot.

-It seems like Purell would kill sperm, right? Someone has tried that out by now.

-Why do magicians dress like Dracula?

“You’ve never even been to Prague.”
“Ohhh, I’ve been to Prague…
…Okay, I haven’t been-to-Prague been to Prague, but I know that thing. I know that stop shaving your armpits, read the Unbearable Lightness of Being, fall in love with a sculptor, now I realize how bad American coffee is thing.”

Foods You Can Bring Into Your Mouth Simply by Sticking Out Your Tongue, a Partial List*

• Popcorn
• Nerds
• Pop Rocks
• Cheerios
• Fruit Loops
• Cap’n Crunch
• Cheetos
• Dry cereals of all sorts
• Puff corn
• Pirate’s Booty
• Pixie Sticks
• Skittles
• Rasinettes
• Hershey’s Kisses
• Lik a Stik powder
• Lik-M-Aid
• Fun Dip
• Cotton candy
• M&Ms
• Dip ‘n’ Dots
• Sprinkles
• Chocolate shavings
• Pringles
• Peanuts
• Ice cream
• Sour Patch Kids
• Sunflower seeds
• The crumbs at the bottom of the chip bag

  Honorable mention: Cheese

*Responses to my tweet.

Watching a children’s fire truck DVD, and the truck says, “I’m so big. While these men are up in my basket, two firefighters are working on me down below.”

Am I a stupid person? I’m not a stupid person. I read all the books you’re supposed to read, I keep abreast of current events, I can find my home state on a map. So if I admit you’re smarter than me, will you do something for me?

Please limit yourself to one joke per evening that forces half the group to go heads down on their iPhones in feverish Wikipedia searches, while the rest of us pretend to laugh uproariously in feigned recognition of your obscure reference point.

Okay, thanks.

Antique shopping, I round a corner and nearly trip over a boy in a paper tiger-mask. He starts, scrambles backward, then pauses in my path. His hands are on the floorboards, and he rocks forward and back, eyes fixed on mine. I smile for a moment, and then realize he is gangly, tall, perhaps too old to be crawling around.

We pause for a moment, at impasse. A giant warehouse fan whirs beside him. He turns his head, bares his teeth one at a time, and growls softly into the fan blades.