He spends a lot of time with the cat, practicing Yoga. (Ha HAH! Get it? Yoda and Yoga!) Yoda's a quiet chap, partially due to his sewn-on mouth.
Hey, I noticed today: you and me, we gots the same last name. Awesome! I hope that means your writing skills on The Junk Drawer will rub off on me, like the genie in a lamp or something.
Yoga.... you made a funny. Yeah! Same last name! Oh, and you're too kind. I still can't think of anything to write about. But I'll rub the lamp just the same.
Are you a mover and a shaker? A decider? Do you put the “man” in “ man agement” (and in “wo man ”)? Duh, or you wouldn’t be here today. Now that we’ve finished our three-hour vodka martini luncheon, I’d like to share something important with you. It’s about the Memogenda on your steel gray decision-making desk. The spiral notebook in embossed Leathertex paper. I don’t care what Irish illuminated manuscript calligraphers say, paper is so much easier to write on than dead animal skins. And the Book of Kells could have cut off a hundred years if those monks had Bics. ( At left: Unhappy monks. ) That’s but one reason why I so love my Memogenda ( at right ), and consult it for many a critical business decision. The system is simple to “manage” (har har!) and, if you open to Page 1, you’ll see the necessary instructions. I shan’t go over them. Do it yourself: thanks to the unique Memogenda system...
Maurice’s cunning helped him evade that hungry field sparrow, and in doing so he discovered something new: his special affinity for flowers. He decided to go for it. He attained his Master’s Degree in floral arrangement from Chicago School of Flower Design. Today Maurice owns and manages a successful retail floral operation behind the shed there, to the left of the plastic green leprechaun. This is my drawing for the Illustration Friday ( IF website ) assignment, this time to illustrate "Hide". Click it for a bigger version.
Herd’s racing fast this morning, driven by a collective inner urge to keep moving, just keep moving. We tear over the charcoal gray trail, tracked smooth and hard as new asphalt. I quickly close in on the slow silver beast with soft rust spots. I curve into the fast lane and pass the old thing with a flourish, careful not to cut in front of him too closely and trip him up. Moments later I’m passed by a growly red Ram leading a troupe of luxury sedans. They swerve in front of me, their red eyes glowing back, unblinking in the early dawn. Fumes of oil exhaust cloud my nostrils and I snort. Hundreds of us wind over wavy hills, speeding up the inclines and coasting down the backsides. Young sunlight casts long teasing shadows. From afar we are a force of nature—a smooth, deliberate, fluid current running with singular purpose. But down here in the thick of it we keep one eye alert to dark overpasses, camouflaged silhouettes, any bush large enough to hide behind. High-stru...
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Hey, I noticed today: you and me, we gots the same last name. Awesome! I hope that means your writing skills on The Junk Drawer will rub off on me, like the genie in a lamp or something.