When I go to a certain chain Chinese food restaurant, I usually take two or three fortune cookies. I always feel guilty about it, even though I know they don’t care. I take them, though, because I love them. I love everything about them. Of course, I love the fortune part, that’s a given. Who doesn’t love being told that their winning smile will gain them many friends? They’re almost always so complimentary. The other thing I love about them is that they’re the cookie equivalent of saltine crackers. They’re bland, almost tasteless, and utterly crispy. I love saltine crackers, because when I was little, whenever I was getting over the flu, that’s the first thing I’d get to eat again, so they always make me feel better. Sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because they remind me of that, fortune cookies make me feel better too. Biscuits and gravy also make me feel better.
I love the way chalk looks on a blackboard (or are we supposed to say chalkboard now?) but only time I like it is when the blackboard is clean. Once it’s been smeared with chalk dust and you try to write on it again, it’s just kind of dull and dank and depressing.
As any of my friends would tell you, I get angry. Oh, do I get angry. I don’t think I feel any other emotions as strongly as I do anger. I wonder though if other people get angry like that too, to the point where even though they know that they’re being irrational and stupid, they can’t stop. It’s like this goblin living inside the back of your throat, yanking on the tendons and stuff, and kicking inside your ribcage. You can’t just ask it to stop, either, because pointing out to the goblin that he’s hurting you just makes him kick harder and then he starts biting at your tongue and clawing at the inside of your skull, and your eyes pop and bleed everywhere and it sucks. I have to admit, though, that there is a part of me, that goblin, who loves to be mad. Coming down off anger is awful though. There’s the guilt and the self-disapproval to deal with, and it is unpleasant.
I’ve always been bothered by the fact that in media when people are shrunk, they can still breathe. Wouldn’t, if you were just shrunk, you die almost instantly? I mean, the big-ol’ oxygen molecules that the little people’d breathe in wouldn’t be able to attach to the teeny-weenie hemoglobin in the little tiny blood stream.
The ceiling tiles in here don’t line up right.
I bought some delicious cheese while I was in Holland. It was made by a man in a shoe factory. This wasn’t just your average cheddar, oh no. It was tender white cheese, filled to the brim with garlic joy, and it had a waxy crust so that it didn’t need refrigeration. The perfect gift! So, I bought the delicious cheese, and I put it into my luggage. The next morning, I realized I had made a grievous mistake. All of my belongings now smelled strongly of garlic and cheese. While the smell was delicious when one was about to take a bite, it did get a bit old after the first couple minutes. I quickly transferred the cheese into a separate backpack, but, alas, it was too late. Now all of my memories of Europe are screened through the robust scent… of cheese.
I love the way chalk looks on a blackboard (or are we supposed to say chalkboard now?) but only time I like it is when the blackboard is clean. Once it’s been smeared with chalk dust and you try to write on it again, it’s just kind of dull and dank and depressing.
As any of my friends would tell you, I get angry. Oh, do I get angry. I don’t think I feel any other emotions as strongly as I do anger. I wonder though if other people get angry like that too, to the point where even though they know that they’re being irrational and stupid, they can’t stop. It’s like this goblin living inside the back of your throat, yanking on the tendons and stuff, and kicking inside your ribcage. You can’t just ask it to stop, either, because pointing out to the goblin that he’s hurting you just makes him kick harder and then he starts biting at your tongue and clawing at the inside of your skull, and your eyes pop and bleed everywhere and it sucks. I have to admit, though, that there is a part of me, that goblin, who loves to be mad. Coming down off anger is awful though. There’s the guilt and the self-disapproval to deal with, and it is unpleasant.
I’ve always been bothered by the fact that in media when people are shrunk, they can still breathe. Wouldn’t, if you were just shrunk, you die almost instantly? I mean, the big-ol’ oxygen molecules that the little people’d breathe in wouldn’t be able to attach to the teeny-weenie hemoglobin in the little tiny blood stream.
The ceiling tiles in here don’t line up right.
I bought some delicious cheese while I was in Holland. It was made by a man in a shoe factory. This wasn’t just your average cheddar, oh no. It was tender white cheese, filled to the brim with garlic joy, and it had a waxy crust so that it didn’t need refrigeration. The perfect gift! So, I bought the delicious cheese, and I put it into my luggage. The next morning, I realized I had made a grievous mistake. All of my belongings now smelled strongly of garlic and cheese. While the smell was delicious when one was about to take a bite, it did get a bit old after the first couple minutes. I quickly transferred the cheese into a separate backpack, but, alas, it was too late. Now all of my memories of Europe are screened through the robust scent… of cheese.
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