What follows starts out as something that was actually said to me recently (albeit paraphrased for clarity), and ends with something completely made up to make it even funnier:
Tipsy Fortuneteller: “You have . . . changed your destiny. Remarkable. You were born to be a sociopath . . . a monster, but you have changed that . . .”
Me: “Go home, Mom. You’re drunk.”
In honor of this week’s unexpected food theme, here’s another food related entry:
A friend of mine was playing around with a new touchscreen order board at a popular American fast food establishment near him when he discovered something . . . odd.
The price of a sausage biscuit was $1.
The price of a regular biscuit though was $1.39, leaving him to wonder if the sausage was somehow subsidizing the biscuit?
When using an electric razor to shave your head, it sounds disturbingly like you are grinding your skull away.
This morning via text L’s Mother tried to congratulate me on replacing a door handle, but for some reason “handle” autocorrected to “hydrangea.” Her response to this was very . . . her:
Seriously? THAT’S what it gets from ‘handle’? Whose vocabulary needs that on autocorrect?
I could only think of one response:
Landscapers?
From an advertising flyer that arrived in my mailbox the other day:
Traditional Funerals At Affordable Prices
Complimentary Dining
*drags self out of bed*
*stumbles over to the computer to check the status of an incoming flight*
*inputs flight number and tries to read the results through bleary eyes*
*reads that the flight landed 7 years ago*
Wait . . . what?
*confirms that the screen does indeed say that the flight landed 7 years ago*
Huh . . . must have overslept . . .
While I understand and appreciate the need for my son’s school to do a background check on all adults that are going to be around the children, it still feels strange to have to pass a background check to accompany my own child on a field trip.
“Lately I’ve been noticing that despite any plans I have to sleep earlier, I don’t actually end up making it to bed until it’s 12:21 precisely,” L’s Mother told me last night. “I don’t know if that’s significant or just palindromic.”
“If I were a guy, I’d still be into you.”
(Courtesy of L’s Mother . . . of course.)
Do you know how to tell when you’ve woken up in a suggestible mood?
When you’re reading something you know was written tongue-in-cheek, and you still think to yourself, “I want everything I own to be powered by the whispered sighs of angels.”
