Non-Tweets of the month

 

For the record, none of these "tweets" ever appeared on Twitter. I'm fed up with Musk. Tired of the repeated password exchange. Done with reading news about blue checks, etc. Still, these are best described as tweet-like, so ...

• SnapChat, Instagram, TikTok — 10 years ago none of us had ever heard of these. Now, they’re taking over the world. It’s a Planet of the Aps.

• A military history buff, I enjoy seeing film of great generals discussing how they made key decisions that led to victory/defeat and upon which nations rise or fall. Kind of reminds me of my wife and I  explaining how our daily Wordle went from 3 guesses to 6

• Yes, I'm aware that Sing Sing is a maximum security prison that incarcerates many of New York's most vicious cutthroats, but every time I hear Sing Sing I convince myself that Sing Sing is a maximum hilarity prison populated entirely by wrongly convicted Muppets.

• Just so she’ll never need reminding that at one time this great nation could confront head-on the really big issues, if we ever have another daughter I’m going argue we should name her, “She/Her/Hers.”

• I’m becoming convinced this 2-pound device is the most excessively engineered piece of equipment in the world. It weighs nearly 2 pounds and all it does is bend a malleable thread of wire that weighs slightly more than a sheaf of butterfly eyelashes. I don’t hold it against the stapler. I blame the staple. The man/woman who invents a simple, safe and effective “pinch” staple will make a fortune. I’m workin’ on it!

• French Gen. Jean-Baptist Kleber was in 1800 assassinated by a Egyptian nationalist. To dissuade future attacks, an 8-foot pike was inserted into the assailant's rectum clear to his still-beating heart. So if things start getting dull and you hear me say, "I have an idea! Let's go find a French general, insult him, and see what happens next," promise you'll distract me with card tricks or a pickleball match until the urge passes.

• I’m grateful for all of you who’ve told me you’re rooting —praying, even — for something good to happen to me. Well, last night driving home from class (it had gone great so I was in a good mood) it happened. I decided I’d stop at Sheetz for a small Blue Raspberry Slushie. Kid at the register said it was his treat. A $1.48 freebie! I asked why. He said I looked like a guy who needed a free Slushie. I thanked him and immediately began trying to look like a guy who needed a fast $50,000.

• I wonder if even considerate stink bugs give up on things like washing their hands after going to the bathroom or if they figure, "What's the point? Either way, everyone's still going to say, 'Hold your nose, here comes the stink bug.’’'

• Some men wake up terrified of illicit behavior being exposed. Some fear responsibility. Me? I wake up with the dreadful realization that with each passing day the teachers we grade-schoolers used to viciously mock as being mean old witches are becoming young enough to be my granddaughters.

• I found peace in the trans controversy after concluding that, not only is there evidence of LGBTQ behavior throughout the animal kingdom, there is at least one breed that appears to be in an endless trans cycle. Behold the Poodle! I've never seen a single poodle that looked like it was comfortable with his/her gender. Every poodle looks like it's in a perpetual state of transitioning. Yes, in some complicated matters, many turn to the Bible; others to science. Me? I look to the poodle!

• Dreams are like kites. It’s rare to achieve liftoff without there being at least one string attached. 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • How come it took the firing of Tucker Swanson McNear Carlson to learn that Tucker Swanson McNear Carlson's full name is Tucker Swanson McNear Carlson. Maybe I'm sensitive because I have no middle name. But this much I know: If I'd have grown up with either of his middle names the mean kids would have stolen my lunch money mcnearly every single day.

• I remain perhaps foolishly optimist that someday soon great fortune and recognition will at last be mine. Yet I now worry that within hours of the windfall some killjoy doctor will inform me I’ve got 48 hours to live. Don’t let that depress you. We can have a lot of fun in 48 hours

• My attempts to philosophize through the Happy Hour tanked when morons pulled out their phones and forced me to look at pictures of their kids/cars/home improvements/etc. The Art of Conversation has descended into the Graffiti of Digital Blathering.

•A hypochondriac is a person who is abnormally concerned about his or her health. A person who is abnormally concerned about error-free messages, stories or posts is a typochondriac.

• I’d have liked to have been in the classroom to have felt the palpable rage, the visceral contempt, when the high school calculus teacher said, "You'd better pay attention, mister, because this is something you're going to need every day for the rest of your life," and see the student she was lecturing was Bob Dylan.

• I tend to keep a wallet for 2 or 3 years or until I can sense it'll  never be cash prolific. For that I blame the wallet. I sense it's lazy, that it repels cash. I figure if it can't be flush after 2 coddling years, it never will. In the last 35 years Ii've probably had 17 wallets. Same work ethic.