Writings, Reviews, Cultural Criticism
The category, Elbow, is for posts that make us laugh.
The gavel came down with a crack, which surprised me, because I thought that courts didn’t use real gavels anymore. I thought gavels were symbols of office, for decoration only, like a captain’s sextant or a priest’s bible. But there it was—a sharp stroke against the wooden desk that sounded in my head like a gunshot. Bang. My first criminal conviction. I had a record.
You know how the song goes: “When you’re in love with a beautiful woman, it’s hard….” That’s how I’ve always felt with Suzanne. I try to hide it, but there are times when my insecurities emerge low in my viscera and refuse to go away.
Mohammed had been sitting outside on a rock for about a thousand years when Youssef pushed his way from the tent to join his brother. For nearly a hundred years, Mohammed had been waiting on the rock while Youssef deflowered virgin number seventy-two, taking her every-which-way his imagination would allow.
For those of us who like to troll the waters of ambiguous language, one of the most rewarding angles (in a manner of speaking) is to read descriptions on product packaging. While those who do the layout for packaging are generally more intentional about their use of ambiguity, this skill isn’t a job requirement for those who write copy for the ingredient list.
Norm and I had been on vacation when Ed across the road from us took his spell or whatever it was he took that ended up killing him and left poor Thelma all alone in that big old house of hers. So, on account of us being in Wichita Falls at the time, Norm and I never had a chance to console Thelma or even bring her a casserole until three weeks after the fact.
If you’re gonna rat me out to my boss then you can just go fuck yourself. And besides … there’s no way on god’s green earth I’ll ever tell you what I’m doin’ home on a weekday watchin’ the Maury show. Oh ya, there’s Springer too.
It was the best of busts; it was the worst of busts, the day I took down Tony Sarducci.
I had just posted yesterday’s entry about how nothing will really change with Obama given that certain ideological assumptions (like consumerism) transcend partisan politics, when spam arrived in my in-box inviting me to purchase my very own Obama commemorative plate and mug.
Although the Swedes aren’t known as a warlike people, the marketing department had launched their latest campaign with military precision. They softened the beachhead – in a manner of speaking – by deliberately leaking all kinds of rumours that exploded like mortar shells in the trenches of America.
I’ve lived in this neighbourhood for nearly ten years now. Not alone, of course; I have the requisite wife with her weekly manicure appointments, and the requisite dog with her poufy tail, and the requisite two point four children. Two of the children are easy to find.
Doctor Horvath motioned for Jack to take a seat by the round, low coffee table while he settled himself in a swiveling chair in front of the bare desk, and then he turned to face Jack while resting his right elbow on the desk.
Whenever I’m surfing, I keep an eye out for wholesome web content I can pass along to my gentle readers so they too can nurture their delicate sensibilities. When I find unashamed discussions of masturbation, I despair that things have gotten out of hand.
Given the relative scarcity of masturbation in pop culture, it should come as no surprise that masturbation conversation is virtually absent from religious dialogue. Have you ever heard a sermon devoted to masturbation? Have you ever had a discussion group?
I tried. I really did. In my continuing quest to plumb the mind of the fundamentalist evangelical Christian (FEC for short), I tried to read Glorious Appearing, the 12th and final installment of the Left Behind series by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins.