In attempt to wear out my soccer players today, I had the team run back and forth between cones while I sat on my plump laurels and made fake notes of who got the fastest lap. When the kids were finished, the only one of the bastards I don't hate said to his teammate "what was your time?"
"No, Tyler!" I yelled, "I thought you were different! I thought you had a future! Don't you know that you're supposed to be F'ing Time in the A!?"
The doe-eyed six year old just stared at me, uncomprehending. It seems as though Time has gotten to our children. Dammit Time, not only are you ruining the next generation, you got me fired for telling six year-olds what to do to you.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
The Highest Praise!
What is the highest praise any person, place, comment, or thing could ever receive?
"You are the best!" NO, not even close!
"That is the coolest most ridiculously awesome fantastic thing ever!" Not quite.
The highest of high praise is simple, elegant, and of course sticks it to Time like the Almighty Zeus did.
"That is timeless!"
Yes, timeless is the phrase that expresses such supreme greatness that it should be reserved for the most epic of persons, places, comments, or things. So don't go slinging it around to just average greatness!
"You are the best!" NO, not even close!
"That is the coolest most ridiculously awesome fantastic thing ever!" Not quite.
The highest of high praise is simple, elegant, and of course sticks it to Time like the Almighty Zeus did.
"That is timeless!"
Yes, timeless is the phrase that expresses such supreme greatness that it should be reserved for the most epic of persons, places, comments, or things. So don't go slinging it around to just average greatness!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Autumn, The Best Season of the Year
Autumn, and/or Fall is the best time of year. Why you might ask? Because when describing it, never is the word "time" used in reference or conjunction with it. There is wintertime, there is springtime, and there is even summertime. There is no "fall time." Wisely, the season of fall refused time like the rest of us because it too recognizes how much BS time truly is. We commend you Autumn for standing up to time. You are the best season of the year, and your foliage is beautiful.Sunday, April 18, 2010
Time Kills Salutes Meg Murry!
Friday, April 16, 2010
Time is a daddy killer
It is well documented that Time has been screwing us over since the dawn of Paganism when Kronos, the youngest offspring of Gaia (mother earth) and Uranus (father sky) overthrew his own father. Seriously, Time? Your own pops?
We all know why you did this. Because you were the same insecure, whiney bastard in the Golden Age as you are today and we're sick of it! Adding insult to injury, Kronos also decided to castrate his father. Freud must have had a field day with you, Time.
We all know why you did this. Because you were the same insecure, whiney bastard in the Golden Age as you are today and we're sick of it! Adding insult to injury, Kronos also decided to castrate his father. Freud must have had a field day with you, Time.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Punctuality and being On Time
When you are punctual, that means that you are on time. If you are on time, that means that time isn't on you. You are free of time, and in a more perverse sense, when you're on time, you're F-ing time in the A.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Let's Burn Time Down
Time!--thou art a churlish bitch that bites
My heels and drives me, blindly bold, to skirt
Oblivion, construct eternity
Carpe that diem, set the hours alight.
A minute burns easily, too slim to fight
The force with which ourselves we do divert
'Til hours blaze with ardent solemnity:
The tender rage of pyrotechnic rites.
To embers--Time--to dust, to fading light
We turn you. You return; sweet, inert,
To lay your chastened head 'gainst divinity
Fast fading from loosening sinews bright.
You settle over us like ash--thick, light--
Resurrecting slow...until we reignite.
My heels and drives me, blindly bold, to skirt
Oblivion, construct eternity
Carpe that diem, set the hours alight.
A minute burns easily, too slim to fight
The force with which ourselves we do divert
'Til hours blaze with ardent solemnity:
The tender rage of pyrotechnic rites.
To embers--Time--to dust, to fading light
We turn you. You return; sweet, inert,
To lay your chastened head 'gainst divinity
Fast fading from loosening sinews bright.
You settle over us like ash--thick, light--
Resurrecting slow...until we reignite.
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