President Trump played one of those games on Facebook where they randomly give you a ‘new name.’ He got, ‘Anita Wall.’

Remember: the worst thing you wrote is far better than the best thing you didn’t write.

where all vowels fail
consonants find a lacking
offer only silence

Due to the increased cost of eating out, the sex position known as 69 is now 96.

A holy crap moment is that instant when you realize you’re the person your mom warned you about.

Jus’ think, your soul mate is out there — somewhere — banging other people.

Anyone who knows me, knows I don’t do spiders. In fact, I’ve been known to run from the tiniest of the eight-legged-freaks and even crawl backwards over sofas and high-backed chairs to escape and evade the little bastards.

So during my sister-in-law’s last visit, I heard her shout, “Mary, there’s a lizard under the TV stand!”

Instantly, “Tom! Get in here and catch this lizard!”

“Gladly!”

Mary knows I love lizards.

Quickly, I raced to the front room, heading for the stand without even needing to be instructed where to go. Our home is small like that – and unnaturally — we have only the one television.

Dropping to my stomach, right ear pressed to the hardwood floor, I looked under the stand. I heard myself squeak in an ultra high-pitched frequency as I shot to my feet and backed away.

“Spider! Big-ass-fucking-hairy-son-of-a-bitch!” I sputtered.

In response, Mary grabbed the broom from the coat closet, deftly slid the stand out-of-the-way and like a warrior of old, readied to do battle with the beast. But she could find neither a lizard nor a spider.

Instead — there near her cedar chest and the wall lolled a lone woolly-booger made of dust and dog shed.

A spider crawled across my hand and now I’m using ‘Google’ to figure out how to remove a fork without doing more damage.

Be the tequila, not the lime.

The last few days I’ve seen a good number of posts, both on WordPress and Facebook, about frogs. One of those postings included my own.

It’s left me remembering the little iridescent green tree frogs that lived along the creek banks near my home and by the grade school. They were creatures with thin fingers and bulbous tips which helped them cling to the many Alder tree branches.

One day, a girl in my class and I were playing with a couple of these frogs when she suddenly pronounced, “You have fingers like a tree frog!”

Embarrassed and feeling shamed, I recall trying to hide my hands. Needless to say I was hurt — which later turned to anger.

Today, I must admit that my finger tips do appear to be slightly fatter than the rest of my fingers. And I also laugh at the memory of how astute she was as a child and how ridiculous and useless my embarrassment, hurt and anger were at the time.

It leaves me with a smile knowing she wasn’t being mean, but rather honest. Ahh, childhood — I’m sure you’d agree that there are some pieces of that trauma we could each do without.