Lewinsky and Kaczynski 


The Washington Post runs a weekly contest in its Style section called the 'Style Invitational'. 


The requirements this week were to use the two words 'Lewinsky' (the Intern) and 'Kaczynski' (the Unabomber) in the same limerick. 


Now, remember, the following winning entries were actually printed  verbatim in the newspaper, no bleeps or xxxs :  



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BUSY, BUSY, BUSY! Just applied for five scholarships; have to read nine Hemingway stories, and seven essays; have to fill out my application to be a TF next semester; need to update my drivers license; should submit a story to a journal for publication; uh ... there's something else, but I can't remember what.


If the final unpacking and cleaning goes according to plan (now isn't THAT a novel idea), then we should be posting pictures of the new pad later today,


Ah'm tahed. Ah'm so tahed that even mah spelling is drawling out in a Jawjan accent.

We came home last night and decided to move the living room furniture into the now empty dining room so the carpet cleaner can come on Tuesday. And that just got us moving. We finished with a clean living room and kitchen. At 3:30 AM!

As Trish said, she found a dust possum underneath the refrigerator. It wasn't a dust bunny -- bunnies aren't that big! It wasn't a dust kitty -- kitties are a lot nicer! All this thing needed was a zap of electricity and it would have come to life and started breeding!

Today is our last Saturday in Azle. Next Saturday we become residents of Denton!

And I have already made my last late night trek home through dark, skunk infested backwoods. Now watch ... at some point this semester, I'll get in my truck after night class, start thinking and driving, and before I know it, I'll be halfway down the highway on the old way home! I best text Trish I'm on my way after every class and have her text me back "TURN LEFT OUT OF THE PARKING LOT! DO NOT TURN RIGHT AND HEAD TOWARD THE INTERSTATE! DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200!"


HAPPY 24th ANNIVERSARY TRISH! Sigh ... the most gorgeous bride, the most beautiful redhead God ever designed!

You're still my best friend and I'd marry you all over again ... right now!

And I don't mind the whole wide world knowing how much I love you, and how much in love with you I am!

(no subject)

So, I am now 48 years old.

Big deal!

Based on Boutwell longevity, I'm still not middle aged. Dad died young at 88. The average lifespan for a Boutwell is 96. Dad had a cousin who made it to 107, and the way I feel, I'll beat that. If it's true that you are as young as you feel, then I'm still 30. At any rate, I'm old enough to know better, but still too young to care!

The only place where I no longer feel 30 is my right knee. I twisted it six months ago and it's still spongy when I walk down stairs. Eh, there are things I can do for that: strengthen the muscles around the knee, take joint support supplements, and just in case Arthur Itis has decided to take up residence in my knee, drink potato juice for six months.

For the numerologists out there ... here's one for you. I'm 48. I was born on the 22nd. Tomorrow, on the 24th, Trish and I will have been married for 24 years. 2 ... 2 ... 2 ... looking out my back door! Numerology isn't my bag ... too much math! If it means something to you, let me know.

Okay. Off to read Chekhov.  I have nine short stories to read between now and Thursday. See you around the 'Verse.


I was in line at a garage today to get the oil changed in my truck. The man in front of me said his name was "Mr. Clitia."

Good thing I had just swallowed my Coke!

Seriously, that's a porn star name! And this guy looked like a 70 year old former tractor mechanic.