Numbers are only words that haven’t the vocal-chords nor the gumption to speak the language; The delight of a small, whole-wheat Mr. Sub veggie-sandwich is equaled only by the physical and metaphorical dragging of a non-complicit onlooker into an otherwise self-indulgent story; The slang-phrase, "B", as in, "yo, B, getchyo fizzace outta my bizzatch" was inadvertently created when Scottie Pippen apologized cross-court to BJ Armstrong after an air-mailed pass during the Chicago Bulls’ title run in 1993;
The word "sinkhole" spelled backwards is "elohknis", an old, Egyptian carafe made from the walked-on mud of political prisoners and the broken shards of even older Egyptian carafes;
If Ian McKellan had fallen in love with my grandmother, in an atavistic and misguided attempt at not being gay, he’d totally be my grandfather...if, indeed, he managed to spawn before he gave in to the overwhelming pull of his sexual birthright;
The colour purple has a smell, and it’s a cross between crushed wildberries and dingy tattoo-ink from a decrepit tattoo-parlour;
Short-term brain-malfunctions are just the result of one’s soul attempting escape through the imagination-gland;
Free-time is a luxury afforded only to those who work so hard all day that when said free-time emerges, there isn’t anything of any consequence to relate...just slapdashittery & purposelessocity.