Tag Archives: satire

Phone call with Mom

A talk on the phone with Mom inevitably begins with asking for money. It’s not that I’m short on money, quite the opposite in fact for a college student, I just didn’t have enough money on my debit card in this instant to buy an online textbook. Plus, I need that money for weed. After the exchange of financial information, the conversation turns to more motherly things, because mine is the stereotypical Jewish mother, and we’re not even Jewish.

Are you sure you don't need me to send you money, dear? I heard college students buy lots of pots. That's for plants, right? I'm glad you understand the importance of gardening.

Are you sure you don’t need me to send you money, dear? I heard college students buy lots of pots. That’s for plants, right? I’m glad you understand the importance of gardening.

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Great! An excuse to talk about how painfully single I am!

So today’s daily prompt is:

He’s (She’s) So Fine

What was it that drew you to your significant other? Their blue eyes? Their ginger countenance? Their smile? Their voice?

What are you talking about Daily Prompt? Even if I had a significant other they wouldn’t be significant.

I love it when this kind of thing is the daily prompt because a) I get to talk about how painfully single I am (surprise surprise) and b) I get to read defensive posts by other bloggers  that can be summed up by “I don’t need no man”.  What’s really great is that when you go onto the Daily Post’s post for this, most of the pingbacks contain the words “forever” and “alone” (like this one, which won first place by including both). The Daily Post really does not know its audience. I attribute this fact to two things. One, us bloggers are losers, and two, those with enough mad skillz to have significant others are too busy trying to keep them (cite bloggers are losers, above). Continue reading

How I Met My Rock (Quite Literally)

I was walking through the forest one day when my foot was rudely blocked by a large something-or-another. The large something or another turned out to be a rock. I went sprawling onto the ground and, by the force of my foot, it went skipping out in front of me. Dazed, I stood up, brushed myself off, and looked at the object I had collided with. I apologized profusely, and it said nothing.

It was a tough cookie to crack.

It was a tough cookie to crack.

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