Growth Of Thorns
Is it just me or is growth perverted? O Face.
I used to think any form of growth was unsustainable. Just like a perpetual motion machine it’s one of those things that’s impossible. (One of my favorite words.) Then, just now, sitting here, one of my brain cells did something. (It can happen.) For lack of any originality on my part let’s call it my latest theory, k?
Tom’s Theory #42 – Societal Asshole Leech Theory (SALT)
The percentage of leech-based humans is growing over time. Or, the more advanced a civilization the higher the amount of leechage.
As far as we know, there is no causal relationship with the number of pirates known to exist, but admittedly further testing is required. This is a work in progress. (I was on a break.)
98% of all email is spam. Of those messages, 98% attempt to deceive or infect. (The rest merely sell growth products like Viagra, the greatest achievement of our civilization and, dare I say, the entire universe and space-time continuum.) My web server is probed and attacked by cyber-terrorists (mostly from China and Russia) 36 hours a day. There’s an entire subset of humanity that does not have jobs and produces nothing of value yet still has food, shelter, cigarettes, pets, cars, smartphones and internet access.
Is this amount of leechage really on the rise or is it merely my touchy empirical perceptions?
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Phoney Services: The Movie
INT. SMALL ROOM – DAY
FADE IN GRAPHIC: PRESENT DAY, 9:37 AM.
FADE IN to reveal two plain, white walls. The wall on the right contains a window with blinds, drawn up, revealing a fence, trees and a grass lawn. The sky is blue and the sun shines. The sound of a lawn mower can be heard in the distance. Birds chirp. In front of the other wall is a computer desk and chair. A computer, Apple, is turned on and displaying the INTERNET.
In the chair in front of the computer sits a man, HERO. A small cell phone is in his hand and held to his ear. His other hand is holding a piece of paper, previously folded, which has now been opened up.
HERO LOOKS AT piece of paper.
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Streets of a Certain Width
Note: I was going to entitle this On The Street Where You Shiv but apparently I already used that for a different post.
I’m not sure why, but the city gave the developer permission to make the streets narrow in the subdivision where I live. How narrow? If you are an expert driver and can balance your wheels on the curbs, you’re just able to navigate a normal sized car while hovering six inches above the ground.
Perhaps I exaggerate just a skosh. I claim the right due to umbrage.
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The Sin of the Droplet #drabble
He could feel it starting. Up along the ridge where forehead met hairline. And he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.
Hyppo and Critter: A fresh serving of hate
I doubt the subject line will bring many folks to my blog. Consider yourself the few. The proud. The whatevers.
Once you start formulating headlines that have nothing at all to do with attracting visitors, perhaps the time has come to ask yourself, “Why do I blog?”
No. I’m not going to answer that question. That’s another thing wrong around here. So be it.
For those of you who want this comic explained, be foolish and keep reading after the break. Beware. Beyond the comic there be dragons.
Unhand me, you curd!
The door opened slowly, incrementally revealing the tantalizing mysteries inside. The throng gathered just outside of the door pulsed and surged, their peanut-sided brains processing in vain the images provided by their startled eyes, attempting to comprehend what was within their view for the very first time.
Suddenly a milk-curd-ling scream rang out. There, laid before assembled throng, was the cold case. Nay, it was not the CBS television show of the same name that somehow miraculously survived for seven insipid seasons and counting. (Unbelievable, I know.)
No, it was a cold case containing cheese curds.
Shouts from the Abyss 
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