And yet another year comes to a close.
In previous years, WFME established a tradition that on the last day of the year we take a comprehensive look back at “the Best of” from the last twelve months.
Well, 2006 is no different.
And so, for those new readers who recently made WFME a daily stop and to those who have been coming by since time began (i.e. December 2003) — we give you our favorite picks from 2006. We hope if you haven’t read them before you give them a first look…and if you already have, pretend that you haven’t.
WFME’s Best Of…
The Washcloth Conspiracy
Mr. Six Revealed
Today’s Prognosis on Soup in a Bread Bowl
If My Left Hand Was a Piece of Steak and My Right Hand Was a Tuba
10 Rules for Eating Out of The Garbage
I Should Not Be Held Accountable for Killing My Hamster
I Am Afraid of Lime Juice That Isn’t Mine
AMEX, Podcast, AMEX Bonus! Audio Podcast!
Today We Will Vote Out One of Yesterday’s Commenters
I Want to Be Asked By Underage Kids to Buy Them Alcohol
Tums Are The New Flintstones Chewable Vitamins
Today’s Rebellious Thoughts on Lap Napkining
WFME’s You Decide: Give a Man a Fish or Teach a Man to Fish?
To everyone who makes WFME a priority over your current family and job, we thank you. To everyone else, you’re not so bad either. Thanks again for contributing with your own wit, senses of humor and dark, scary evilness.
Happy New Year.
You love oranges, I get it.
You probably peel an orange with those hands of yours after you finish your tuna fish sandwich each and every day at lunchtime. You probably think to yourself how glorious it is that you’re infusing your body with well-needed vitamin C and having a healthy snack that’s leagues ahead of the typical chips and/or protein bars. You probably happily munch away at the juicy-goodness of your in-season orange and wonder why the rest of the world hasn’t yet jumped on the bandwagon you’re currently riding.
And that’s why I’m writing this open letter to you, Orange Citrus Finger-Smeller.
There’s three smells, that once you get on your fingers, are very very very hard to get rid of, even with antibacterial soap and/or sandpaper. They are:
Look, maybe I’m just desensitized.
Mabye I’ve just seen too many movies and too many crime-related TV shows and watched too many graphic cable news reports from violent parts of the world. Maybe I’ve just been shown how medical science can fix just about any serious wound on shows like ER and Grey’s Anatomy that I rarely worry about getting injured and not being able to be mended in a quick-like fashion.
Maybe that’s why I’m not afraid of getting shot.
Have you ever read those books?
You know, the ones that tell you how to cope with your daily stresses by giving yourself “suggestions” before you go to bed so that while you’re sleeping you can have your mind suss out all your problems by dreaming about said problems and handling said problems entirely in the dream world? It’s a part of those same books that also instruct writers how to solve narrative problems in their current writing, just by suggesting they want to dream about them. Even for fun, it seems, people can tell themselves they’d like to dream about winning American Idol and voila — they can.
Except no matter what I do, I can’t dream about Whitney Houston.
[At El Pollo Loco’s Drive-Thru]
Them: “Welcome to El Pollo Loco, may I take your order?”
Me: “Yeah, can I get two beef meximelts…”
Me: “A bean and cheese burrito, with sour cream…”
Me: “And that great Nacho Bell Grande thing?”
Them: “Anything to drink?”
Me: “Pepsi? Oh, and those cinnamon crispas for dessert.”
Them: “Okay. Anything else?”
Me: “Can you read back my order?”
Them: “Beef melt, bean and cheese burrito, nachos, pepsi and a churro.”
Me: “Well, I guess that sounds about right.”
Them: “Please pull around to the second window.”