I Had Ceased To Meet Them, For The Money Fail

In recognition of the 31st anniversary of the release of Kenny Loggins' "Whenever I Call You Friend", 2T&AC proudly presents the following list of business terms to share with colleagues, friends and families alike, effective immediately:

1. "Help me understand"
2. "Low-hanging fruit"
3. "Learnings"
4. "Cascading information"
5. "Action items"

Shaking Her Corn-Chowder In Amazement

We knew that someone had to be lying when 4 out of 5 of us had straight-flushes and the other had the seventeen of hemp. One of the common scholars present at the time was hammering his sister with his left hand as he played cards with his right. I wished a jawbreaker in his heart, but I guess it didn't happen since he remained alive and continued hammering her. Just as I couldn't take the vicious hammering anymore, I remembered that I had tickets for the first game of the Autumn Internationals at the Naster Cord Arena in downtown Indianola, Mississippi, packed my lunch and left.

Hercules Represented As A Confusing Tangle Of Spiders' Webs

I saw him nodding forward, with his heavy hand shoved against the boy, "as a form of justice," he would say later. But it was the dead stare behind his tingling pupils as he ate the flowers that really gave me shivers. His appetite was seemingly bottomless as he then proceeded to eat a bass, a walleye, two catfish, a bluegill, and the head of a crappie, all in a distanced, unfeeling manner. Later in the evening, he decided it was time for a spontaneous branding session and put a silver dish in the oven at 500 degrees F for 20-25 minutes. As he took it out of the oven, he was shouting something about an aluminum chassis as he chased the boy around the room. The boy needed several skin grafts after that, but only spent a few months in the intensive care ward and now he is as good as new. Plus, he has that sweet brand.

Between My Deceased Relations

The host of TVs Can Do, Robert Alda thought it was about time to get his Smart Wipe™ on, and nestled one fragranced Smart Wipe™ on each side of reason. Smart Wipe™ positioning aside, the host of TVs Can Do, Robert Alda got back to brewing his homemade sawdusty fragrance out of, well, sawdust and perfume (and a little paraffin) for his latest batch of bootleg Smart Wipes™. His heart still held out for the already-mentioned freemasonry-- to his mind, there was nothing less splendid. But for now, Smart Wipes™ will wipe smartly-- indeed, ever smarter.

Man And Wet, Wet Naked

The next morning I was horrified to find her bridal flowers in my sore leg. The floral compound fracture made me sick to my stomach just to see it-- but then the smell! It was worse than the smell that wafts from those pits of stripper blood you find in South Carolina and Cameroon. The first time we vacationed in either of those places, I could even smell the smell with my phantom nostrils. There was a striking similarity between the stench of the stripper blood and that of the smoke coming from the windows of the bride's parents' high, high house. And the pain! The blossoming, brightly colored pain, the scaly tips of thorns; this was to be the beginning of finely perceived agony that would last to this very day.

Big Undulating Chance

We decided the project had to be done with a very serious tone considering the number of lives lost while building the amphitheater. It was to be the first amphitheater of its kind, with all of the audience's seats on a rollercoaster track modeled after the Phaethon in South Korea, with a helix, then the first corkscrew followed by another corkscrew, and a 540 degree helix all leading up to the final brakes which would coincide with the main character's death. But alas, the Mastersons beat us again with their new amphitheater extravaganza which not only had the audience seats on a roller coaster track, but the entire thing was located in the vent of a live volcanic cone enclosed in vertical gneiss cliffs.

As I contemplated yet another failure, I was rubbing my stinking ass in the vicinity of a very powerful computer, causing it to malfunction. I called my lawyer and told him we had another lawsuit to throw on the pile. He just chuckled and told me not to be surprised if I never heard from him again.

Followed By Three More Picture Books

The entire staff sat around the 2T&AC offices all day today trying to pick out one single sentence to write here, and well, this is it.

Take Two Leaks In A Large Bowl, Sieve And Simmer

We finally named our band: Indiscriminate Spraying. We specialize in ambient sledgehammer drone-a-billy. Our lead singer is post-op trans-species, emu-to-human. (most people don't even notice) Our tromboner was actually ruled dead by the county coroner - twice, years apart - and each time came back to life with a new talent-- the first time, he could make homemade soap from bologna and motor oil, and the second time he could play the trombone like Grachan Moncur III, so we had to get him in the band. Our band statement is more or less based on the fact that we refuse to recognize the authority of the U.S. over Puerto Rico.

For our first show next week, we were going to paint yellow stripes on our faces, Adam Ant-style, but considering that saffron is the world's most expensive spice by weight, we think we're just gonna do it with blood. Or poop. (Not our own, duh.)

It Shimmers On The Calm Dark Diving Board

When my brother first started tailoring tiny suits for crickets and later for other insects, we all thought he had sat down at his trousers rather than actually putting them on, if you know what I mean. But when his 1986 "Stone Dreadful" locust collection made him a star in the insect world, we changed our tune, and I changed what I had written about the situation in my memoirs, putting a more positive spin on it.

We travelled to the opening show in Garden City, Kansas, but when we arrived, I realized that I had unfortunately forgotten my favorite forefinger in either the second or third rental car. I was doing a lot of expectorating at the time, under the keenest scrutiny of my personal physician, who was at my side at all times, and he advised me not to go back for the finger; to just forget about it.

I decided that I needed to try and get my mind off my missing forefinger and familiarize myself with the marshes of the region, using the aid of a homemade compass comprised of a pin cushion and a magnet. Long story short, I got lost and subsequently kidnapped and ended up spending several years locked in isolated confinement. Every night I would reluctantly put on my collar and nestle into the sickly bedding, stroking my beautiful Roman nose to make myself tired enough to sleep there.

There was one small slit in the ceiling, so if I stood on my tippy toes I could glimpse a small sliver of the sky. One night as I peered through the crack, I caught a glimpse of a firefly wearing one of my brother's suits and it was then that I realized that I had never before shared, and in fact never would share, a thimble of sugar water with an insect of any kind.

The Opportunity Of Water-Butts

The host of TVs Think Fast, Skip Lackey decided it was time to lock his leather apron because of all the very pretty brown paper packets he kept inside. It, inside it. He kept the pretty brown paper packets inside the apron, I mean. And cherries, too. He kept cherries in there. Very, very, valuable cherries. Of course, he used to keep his poo-poo and toenails in there, but he cleaned it up-n-out pretty good. Can I borrow your pants once in a while?

The Shape Of Eating

We tied a sheep bell to my sister every day for the first several years of her life to keep track of her. Well, guess what? It worked, bitches. We still know where she is to this day. One day, the landlord passed the green mounds in an attempt to secretly remove the sheep bell. I can tell you this with certainty: he was a dreadful acquaintance and a villain and no one was sad when he was killed after foolishly shaking the Hulk.

So now it is today and I am reading this very couplet while passing the ditch where the landlord's body was chucked. I have secretly used a tombstone as a pillow for weeks now, and everyone can smell a sweet bounty in vodka in my whisper. I have never experienced the luxury of drumsticks and wish I could stop ticking soldiers. All of this I blame on him, the landlord.

Consider The Action A Victory In Terms Of Body Count And Withdraw

Whatever family opinions the soldier brought to church were rolled up in cloth remnants and stuffed in empty casks. It looked terribly heavy, but he was not only a frighteningly elegant gazelle-like creature, but also much stronger than he looked. He sat patiently through the sermon, snickering any time the preacher said "God" or "Jesus" or "Our Holy father", which struck more than a few parishioners as queer.

We later found out that the soldier was not actually a soldier at all, (despite the fatigues) but actually a Dutch-born flautist with the classification: Austronesian-Malayo-Polynesian-Northwest-Sarawakan-Dayic-Kelabitic-Apo-Duat flautist, which is something very unusual, apparently. But as the old saying goes: What's in sudden bites, aside from just another glass?

He With The Befoiled Spine, A Real Winner

We sat on the lawnmower, feeling that every blade was equivalent to grand larceny of the shins. Suddenly, the edge of someone's leg (or something analogous to the edge) erupted with more than 503 maggots from a hole less than the size of a Euro-coin. That was when we septuplets were 5-- it took several more years before someone had prettily patented an anti-cut blade. Of course, you're welcome to think the inventor had a greater sense of clerical air than your average non-cleric, pro-anti-cut blader, but of course, you will be wrong if you do.