TSA: Terrorism Supplied by Airlines

A recent headline in my CNN news app read "Contempt for security a red flag for TSA". I looked at the title for a few moments before reading the article, wondering if perhaps it was supposed to be something more realistic, along the lines of "Contempt for violations of personal space makes TSA want to fondle uncomfortable passengers even more."

(Non)Acknowledgement

This year holds the twenty-sixth anniversary of the day of my birth or, as those who continue to ignore common rules of language call it, my twenty-sixth birthday. It's not a birthday. A birthday is the day of your birth. You are not born every year, you have an anniversary of that day. Anyway, more to the point of this bit of babble: This year's anniversary of my birth will be the last time I acknowledge any difference between this date and any other because it is, after all, just another day.

Low Standards

My current writing project is taking somewhat of a back seat to my new plan: Write a pretty crappy novel that's still better than Twilight, without trying. This will let me get experience in the realm of authorhood without having to put the story(ies) that I actually care about in danger of getting stuck in Publication Limbo because of a lack of experience with interacting with the publishing world.

Now all I need is a pseudonym to credit the awful piece to, to keep my own good name innocent and clear of the awful.

If Twilight, as well-written as it is (lol), can sell so well, then I have all the confidence in the world that I can do better without trying.

I Sell Eye Cells

I was in a dark back alley in Moscow the other night, peddling my wares, typically consisting of miniature, manually-directed, counterfeit rainstorms, when a man stumbled around the corner, bumped into me and fell down. When I asked him what the problem was, he informed me that his eyes weren't what they used to be. They were now very large marzipans who had marzed off to join the parade. So I sat down on a cat that I found to be quite a comfortable chair, pulled my pipe out from under the sink and pondered the meaning of this strange man's words. Three years later, when I was a small cabbage, it struck me. I decided I wasn't fond of this since the impact had left a large odor not entirely unlike a smell in my nostrils. So I set out to find this fellow, and ask him a few questions. After a tenure search and a decade of trying to find this man, one of my associates, with whom I had no link whatsoever, got fed up with my constant lack of chain supplies. Complimenting me on the meal, though there was no cornbread involved, he swiftly turned into a door. The force of the collision shook him such that he wet himself in fear. Furious at him for diving into my already-low supply of liquid fear, I struck him. Two innings later we both agreed to put down the bats. I related to my Corynorhinus townsendii that his ears made him look stupid, to which he responded, "Sonar doesn't count as looking."

I apologized profusely. I was unaware quantity was involved. Turns out, she's been married for years.