ATM Withdraw

People try to rob banks. But aren't ATM's unguarded, large deposits of money? Why hasn't anyone ever tried to tap that before? I mean, people try all kinds of things for money. Are ATM's that invincible? An iron man?

As I write this, I wonder if tomorrow we will read about a wave of ATM holdups.

I wouldn't mind if the ATM's were held at gunpoint. The $2 surcharges they like to dish out could better be spent on about a half a gallon of gas. Masterminds of the world unite: show those ATM machines we mean business.

Knuckle Crack

Will cracking your knuckles really make them swollen?

I hate to hear other people crack theirs, and I usually yell at them for doing it. My grandma would have yelled and added a bit of advice about when you're her age and what's going to happen to you. Sometimes I tell people it's not good for them. But I really wonder sometimes, if maybe it's not bad at all but we just hate hearing that noise so much (crack, crack, crack) that we made up a reason to tell people to stop doing it.

What's the deal with the word crack anyway? Think about it: what did crack ever do to you to deserve such a bad rep? Crack. If people have fun hurting themselves, shouldn't we just let them do it?

Crack.
The more you hear it / say it / type it, the weirder it seems.

Asscrack.

Crackwhore.

Crack.

ShowHer-ing

Showering really calms the mind and body. And soul. So does sleeping.

Pores clean, feet fresh, with a slightly perfumed conditioner still clinging to my hair follicles, I am slipping into bed nude. My freshly-shaved and lavender-lotioned legs are skimming the insides of my sheets as I curl into the fetal position before drifting into a fantastic, sober... round two of "Her" time.

To: You

I want to be with you right now. Really. I do, but I can't because I am not capable anymore. I want to love you and I want to be there for you. Yet every time I am there for you I feel as though you are pulling me backwards. Like I'm walking away and you grab my right shoulder blade, turn me around to face you and plant the biggest smooch on my forehead and tell me you love me. That I can't leave you. That you have nothing else left. Well I have news for you: I don't either. Whatever I had left, you took. And I don't know what you did with it - maybe you chewed it up and spit it out like some old BubbleYum. They always did run out of flavor quick. Point being, the pack is done and I have nothing more to give you but some crumbled candy wrappers. I am walking away now. Don't touch my shoulder. Let me go.