Tag Archives: humor

The Picture of Dorian Going Gray.

OH MY GOD, I FORGOT TO WANG CHUNG TONIGHT; everybody was told to do it.



AI sucks (in case you haven’t heard).

This just in … AI developing targeted spam for authors is a goddam nightmare.

You can develop an ear for it pretty quickly — the language it employs has its own unique blandness to it.  But, because I am often slow on the uptake, I thought these flattering e-mails were legit.  (And it was a heady feeling to suddenly discover mysterious critics praising some very specific aspects of my writing from more than a decade ago.)

Now the problem is the frequency of these e-mails themselves.  Maybe it’s just and end-of-the-year thing, but I got two in the last two hours, and they have a knack for fooling spam filters.

We never got the Westworld hotbots or Ron Moore’s chic, uber-cool cylons, but technology gave us this shit?  We got robbed.

Why does everything have to be awful?  Sorry.  I’m in a mood.



Oh, hai.

Raise your hand if you think Haiku AF would be a great name for a literary magazine.



Uhhh … thank you, Mistress, may I have another?

I submitted a poem to a new journal; I got a somewhat terse rejection letter.  Then, just to underscore the point, they sent me the same rejection letter a day later.  Sort of an encore-type thing.

Then, finally, I get an e-mail welcoming me to “The Sub Club” asking me if I “Want Attention.”  I swear I am not making this up.

Not even gonna touch that one.



Exited the post office, promptly walked in the wrong direction.

I got halfway down the wrong street before the storefronts finally clued me in.  (“Wow, was this furniture store always here?”  “They put in a bakery?!  Overnight?!  Ohhhhhh … wait.”)



Apocalypse Nolan.

Yes, this is normal for me.  I just function far better in low light.  (And, trust me, I need all the help I can get.)

Think of me as a goofier Walt Kurtz.   And a nyctophile.  Melanophile?  The difference is mostly lost on me.



I don’t employ metaphor.

With me, it’s metaFIVE, Baby, metaSIX, metaTEN.

Waiting for the inevitable “Spinal Tap” joke …



A salami omelette is called a salamelette.

And that is today’s portmanteau, ladies and gentlemen.

Hey, I’ll go you one better.  A hard salami omelette is called a halamelette.  That’s even more enticing.  It sounds Kosher.   (And “harlamelette” sounds too reminiscent of “harlot omelette;” I’m not sure what that would even be made of, but I can’t imagine it’s good.)

Please, no pedanticism about the correct spelling of “omelette,” because it’s too goddam confusing.

I suppose it is obvious that I have strayed from my avowed heart-healthy diet.  I need to get back on that horse.  (Back on the wagon?  Getting to horse hitched to the wagon or something?)

I’m rambling again.