Good to know the haters are still out there.
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"Write a short story every week. It's not possible to write 52 bad short stories in a row."
-Ray Bradbury
The old man sat with a large portfolio of sketch paper and a small wooden box of charcoals, pastels, and knives on the bench next to him.
The Internet is a magical place where you can be looking for one thing when you stumble on to a video of a chicken killing and eating a spider.
Best. Spider. Movie. Ever.
A figure that looked like Jimmy Edison stood on a small ridge of wind-blown sand near an untended hedge of rosa rugosa. It was high tide and the crashing of the surf sounded like laughter, like the ocean and the sky and the world was chuckling, snickering, guffawing at some cruel but irresistible joke. Jimmy Edison's partially eaten dead body lay face down in the wet sand just a few feet away with two local police officers crouched over it.
The NFL.
It's just like us.
We've got guns. We get shot by guns. Uncle Carl is gay. That guy who got the job we wanted? Yeah. That guy. "Motherf--ker."
I share one thing with the Hollywood outlaw, The Sundance Kid. I can't swim.
No, wait. Two things. If they made a movie of my life I'd be played by whoever the young Robert Redford is today. Brad Pitt?
Okay, okay. I share one thing with The Sundance Kid.