There are some dangerous intersections in our neighborhood, where trucks come barreling through after the light turns red. This morning, Kelly and I were waiting at the light when she dropped her sunglasses. "Fuck beans," she muttered, unbuckling her seat belt and leaning forward just as the light turned green. With trepidation, I glanced both ways, then rolled forward and coasted through the intersection, reaching the other side safely. When she buckled up again and I breathed a sigh of relief, she asked me what was the matter. I told her I had a terrible vision that we would be hit by a truck and her last words on this Earth would be "fuck beans."


One Reply to Crash

Justin Conner | September 12, 2009
Thats Hillarious, I can just picture that whole event.


Logical Operator

The creator of Funeratic, Scott Hardie, blogs about running this site, losing weight, and other passions including his wife Kelly, his friends, movies, gaming, and Florida. Read more »

The News is Furry

I'm glad to see that CNN has continued their crackerjack, no-nonsense news coverage during ratings season: Go »

PS3: First Impressions

On Tuesday, which happened to be Denise's birthday (we celebrated the night before), an acquaintance sold me a brand new Playstation 3 and I hit Best Buy to choose carefully from among the whopping half-dozen titles available. When I unpacked the system with a friend, I found it to be much bigger and heavier than I expected, but it's sleek and doesn't have any buttons; you just wave your finger over it to turn it on. The far left edge of the screen is cut off on my TV set, since the system doesn't include any display-centering option, but I hope to figure out a solution. Go »

The Tiger

This is the second of four weekly blog posts about diagnoses that have completely changed my life since the pandemic started, after The Dragon. Last week, I wrote about my liver disease, which doesn't have any direct, detectable signs. It's not as if I feel any pain in my liver, or that I can sense that it's not working in the same way that I could tell right away if, say, my eyes stopped working or my lungs stopped working. Go »

Crash

Some days are so bad, you feel like you've been the only driver in a demolition derby without a car. Go »

Retrospection

If I recall the dates correctly, yesterday would have been my grandmother's 100th birthday. She lived to just shy of her 89th, despite a lifetime of chain smoking. I remember her as a sweet, generous woman who liked to laugh and teach me life's simple pleasures; a typical afternoon for us was playing crazy eights and baking cinnamon rolls. Go »

Windbag

I don't know what Polaroids he has of whom, but somehow Tom Skilling has elevated himself to some kind of all-important weather-broadcasting god. When I grew up in Chicago, I watched him gradually get a bigger and bigger budget for his animated graphics, and gradually get a larger and larger timeframe to deliver his dull reports. By the time I left town, he had a whole 20 minutes of the hour-long midday newscast for the fucking weather, and boy did he find trivia to fill it: Average dew points across Cook County on this day in 1854, theta-e temperature predictions for every Cubs home game next season, you name it. Go »