Big Bob sauntered down to my work area and casually enquired if I had a wooden leg.
I lurk on various news and special interest forums. Occasionally the commenters get carried away with cascading puns:
Heisenberg is driving down a road when a cop stops him. The cop comes up to the window and says, “Do you know how fast you were going?” Heisenberg responds, “No, but I know where I am.”
While walking my dog (strange things always seem to happen when I’m walking my dog), I came upon a black van parked near my neighbor Jeanne’s house. There were a couple of goons wearing wraparound shades studying your sick maple tree. When they saw me approach, they scuttled into their van and drove off in a cloud of sulfurous-smelling fumes.
I live next door to a lovely lady who is a music professor at our local university. During the year she takes time to lead workshops, give recitals, and appear as a guest artist in various orchestras around the world. I am her designated house caretaker whenever she’s traveling, whether it’s to Interlochen in Michigan, or southern Italy. Besides tending her plants inside and out, I also collect her mail from the community mail...
In the past decade, food producers large and small began to add seeds and nuts and dried fruit to their products, then slapped the Artisan label on it, and concomitantly raised the price in the expectation that the unwary consumer would be thrilled at the thought of purchasing something of greater value, if not a bit of snob appeal.