I have some great memories of sipping ice pops and playing “Sorry!” with my best friend on his back patio after a long summer day. (I believe it was licensed by Parker Brothers in the 1980’s, and not Hasbro.) Not once did anyone ever chime in and say “sorry” during gameplay. Because that would have been weird and stupid.
1) Take the number of days you’ve quarantined.
2) Add the number of times you’ve washed your hands today.
3) Divide by Covid-19.
4) Multiply by the number of typos you found in Donald Trump’s last tweet.
5) Subtract by the number of times you tried to scratch your nose through your mask today, because you are an IMBECILE.
6) Multiply by Steely Dan’s “Hey 19.”
7) Add 1984.
8) How do I love thee? (Count the ways and then add them.)
9) Divide and conquer.
10) Goto Line 10.
11) Add a hominem.
12) Explain the steps you took, it in the voice of a muppet vampire who LOVES TO COUNT.
13) Integers. Or something.
14) Cube 2: Hypercube.
15) Subtract Matchbox 20.
16) Snap your fingers wearing the Infinity Gauntlet — so that it’s perfectly balanced, as all things should be.
17) Explain the math of this to Private Rieben. (Show your work.)
18) If your answer is all mixed up by 311, you’ve got to trust your instinct and let go of regret. (You’ve got to bet on yourself now, Star. ‘Cause that’s your best bet. WATCH ME NOW.)
You can probably find your local fire/EMS departments on Facebook. (I’m not sure about Twitter and other platforms.) It’s quick and easy to comment with a thank you or some encouraging words for first responders.
I’m pretty sure that my older brother got Ideal’s “Rebound” game when it first came out in the mid-1970’s; it wound up in my hands a few years down the line. When I was in the first or second grade, I thought it was the coolest thing imaginable.
At Dirty Dick’s and Sloppy Joe’s
We drank our liquor straight,
Some went upstairs with Margery,
And some, alas, with Kate;
And two by two like cat and mouse,
The homeless played at keeping house.
There Wealthy Meg, the Sailor’s Friend,
And Marion, cow-eyed,
Opened their arms to me, but I
Refused to step inside;
I was not looking for a cage
In which to mope in my old age.
T’he nightingale are sobbing in
The orchards of our mothers,
And hearts that we broke long ago
Have long been breaking others;
Tears are round, the sea is deep:
Roll them overboard and sleep.
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 