Really banking on that quarter you tossed in some mall fountain when you were 6
The only time you’ll ever ponder: If I make an offer and nobody is around to accept, does it get offered at all?
Putting all of your eggs in one basket, then giving that basket to a bank, then waiting patiently for breakfast, then not getting coffee while you wait.
Short, the same way fat is like skinny, huge is like tiny, and my dog is like smells good.
Being hungover in the middle seat of a cross-country flight (on Southwest, so you are looking at the sorry sap across the way the whole time – maybe it’s worse to be the sorry sap, either way).
Being the donkey in a sad line drawing where a stick and carrot is cruelly leading some sorry ass into an eternity of dreams unfulfilled.
A surprisingly decent muse for a nifty turn of phrase (this is where, in tennis, I admire my brilliant forehand and ponder celebration dances while my opponent knocks a running backhand by my lazy ass).
Wondering if these bullets are the stick, the point a carrot, and if you are, in fact, the Donkey.