Note you'll never find on the sidewalk / Judith Worbler

Diane-

We've been close for many years now - the bestest of friends. Through thick and thin we've found comfort in each other's words. That's something I'd never want to jeopardize yet at the same time I feel the time has come for me to lay it all on the line as they say. I'm hoping that today going forward we can start to find comfort in each other's arms.

The fact is, I'm in love with you. I have been ever since that night on the hovercraft. Do you remember?

I can only assume your first reaction is fear. Fear that now that this is out there things will never be the same between us. Fear that the next time we see each other you won't know how to react. Fear that you feel the same way. All I can say is that it's OK to be afraid. I'm afraid too. But behind that fear is hope. Hope that what the future holds for us is even greater than the past. Hope that my years of longing were not all for naught. Hope that you feel that same way. And that hope brings forth a feeling of excitement I cannot bare to contain. Excitement that our next meeting will only bring tears of joy. Excitement that the previous feelings of fear and hope were all worth it. Excitement that you might feel the same way.

If you feel the same way please place this note on or nearby some sewer grate near a highly trafficked sidewalk where it may get wet, torn, smudged, and stepped on. Leave it there so that someone might happen upon it, fish it out of the filth, read it, share it with friends and coworkers, mocking me over and over again.

That way I'll know you're mine forever.

Yours forever,

Neil

Day of thanks / Dean Manzeen

On this day of thanks

I like to take a quiet moment

and reflect on my life

I think of my beautiful family

a respectable career

strong friendships

a safe home

a good dog

a full belly

a privileged run indeed

yet I can't seem to shake from my head

the fact that I've never had sex with a black woman

And another thing! / Meredith Baxter Birney

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce. . . the ellipse!!

I only fuck one way baby, and that's hard. Now if that's something you can't handle then you're nothing more than the woman your mother bore the day you were born.

To pronounce the wrong words right or pronounce the right words wrong? Half a dozen of one and eight of the other if you ask me. So just ask me.

And he spoke without warning to no one in particular. Sure no one was listening, yet sure he was making his point clear he yelled out, "I am a mad scientist!" Not the kind that deals with theories, variables, and rub-a-dub but one who sees the differences others are scared to notice. For running on empty is a state one should strive for. Self destruction! Can you afford it? Better yet - can you even make out the digits on the price tag?

Kid can't tell right from doesn't make a difference.

You think this is some sort of feel good, guy get the girl, two feet on the floor at all times extravaganza? I'll give you one more guess. Sure, it was a nice day outside but you think that mattered to Senor Rapture? He, my friend, had badder fish to fry and today was day one of not doing his laundry. Skip dinner he says. Skip dinner he still says. Make no mistake - you two have nothing in common. You think he's reading this right now? Guess again. Oh, I almost forgot, you are out of guesses. Parting gifts? ? ?

Been there / Trisha Twistdemon

I get myself on the train

like I do every day.

Thousands of times.

I know the benches, windows, and doors.

Yet I can't say for certain

that I've ever rode in this car.

So similar in sound and structure they are.

So I stand here and wonder

if I've been here before

in this spot

or am I unknowingly

exploring someplace new

subjecting my eyes

to familiar visions yet up to now unseen.

It's such a beautiful notion

that a single tear wells.

It would've dropped to the dirty floor

thereby marking my presence

if it wasn't for a single thread of drool

which hangs from my gaping mouth

and hits the floor first.

In regards to your conjecture of my fucking around / Delores Shambles

I'm sorry.

Do you think I'm fucking around here?

Well, in that case I feel it's my utmost duty to inform you of your grave miscalculation in the matter. In fact, not only am I not fucking around here, I am actually in the process of executing certain actions better categorized as, for lack of a better term, anti-fucking around!

Suffice to say, you couldn't be more mistaken.

And since we're on the subject, I feel inclined to inform you that if indeed I was fucking around you can rest assured that there would be little to no doubt over whether or not the acts in question would be suitably deemed as 'fucking around' because the level of fucking would be on a plane so otherworldly that instead of inquiring as to the seriousness of the situation, you'd instead feel an overwhelming compulsion to warn friends, family, and bystanders that I am most certainly, not to mention hilariously, totally and absolutely without question, 100% fucking around here!

Is that clear?

Finally, in an effort to correct your egregious error, I ask that you make a mental note of those persons you'd notify in the event I was fucking around, keeping in mind that the level of fucking would be such that you'd be wise to error on the side of advising too many people than too few and alert the appropriate parties that despite your gross ignorance that I am NOT FUCKING AROUND HERE!!

UNDERSTAND!!!

Good. I hope that settles things. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Pbbbbt!! Just kidding man!! I was totally fucking around there!! 'There' meaning initially AND throughout my rant about not fucking around.

So I was double fucking around.

You shoulda seen your face.

Things to say to the guy floating next to you right before you both plunge to your deaths over a waterfall / Daphne Fairplay

• So. . . what brings you here?

• Well, my cell phone is likely kaput. You?

• I think it's fair to say that this is the most inexplicable hard on I've ever had.

• Whatever happened to Kevin Spacey? I mean, he had a string of hits there for awhile and then, pbbbt, nothing.

• On the way down I'll do the running man if you do the robot. Deal?

• If we both somehow make it out of this we should totally hang out some time. Like on a social level, you know? Nothing creepy or anything. . . You know what? Forget it. Dumb idea.

• If I live and you die I'm telling everyone you really pussed out big time.

• If I die and you live tell everyone I fought like a champion. Use those exact words. Fought like a champion. You understand?

• Let's both take off our pants before we go over. That should keep the authorities speculating for a while.

• Good fishing in these parts I heard.

• Wow, total warm spot over here!

• Awkwaaaaaaaard!!

The words / Monty Hoosegow

He turned his head and looked at the wall. It was the only place it made sense to look. Her words had made their way across the table and were now his to do with what he pleased. He kept them at a safe distance for the time being, choosing to focus on the wall rather than ponder or understand them.

She'd arranged the words in a different, kinder manner than she intended. Such words tend to do that on their own as they are spoken. Any thought of restating them in a more direct fashion was dismissed, however, when he looked away. That gesture left little doubt that any sort of rephrasing was necessary, yet from where she was sitting the words seemed to still hang there, unclaimed, somewhere between her mouth and his ears.

He continued his stare at a blank spot on the wall. He considered shifting his gaze to the bookshelf, or to a picture, but he feared the slightest change of focus might be interpreted as a sign of acceptance. Instead he took those words and batted them around for a bit, to and fro, in a futile act of postponement. And as they danced about he came to appreciate them. For as much as the words now belonged to him, he was at their mercy. They had staked their claim in that room and no amount wall staring could convince them to have never been uttered.

She spoke one more word, his name, which led him to finally meet her eyes. He then opened his mouth and reluctantly delivered his own words, the first of thousands they'd needlessly exchange the rest of the evening that would sprinkle over the undisputed fact they both knew neither could change, that it was over.

Daylight savings / Harold Ramis

OK so if at 2 am we gain an hour so that it's really 1 am but I don't change any of my clocks and instead sleep in an extra hour and go about my day an hour behind schedule knowing in the back of my mind that I'm actually right on time because there's that hour I'm saving in my back pocket I should be able to use that hour whenever I need to, right?

Right.

But . . . then I remember that I did the same thing back in March when we lost an hour and 2 am suddenly became 3 am except it wasn't exactly the same thing so much as it was the complete opposite because instead of having an extra hour I had one less so either way my clocks were already wrong and already an hour behind and I've simply been going about my days knowing that it's really an hour later than now which has come in pretty handy as I typically overcompensate and arrive over an hour early to meetings and appointments and the like.

So. . . now that I know this I'm not sure if I still have that hour in my back pocket to use at my discretion or do I really now have two hours to use or has this most recent clock change cancelled out all conscious time differentiations I may be harboring resulting in accurate clocks once again and a need to re-train myself to treat 7 o'clock like 7 o'clock instead of 8 o'clock because if I don't then I run the risk of either showing up to work 2 hours early or one hour ahead and I'm not sure which one.