Writer, not

This happens to me about once a week.  I couldn’t embed it, so click to see the video.

Another rejection from McSweeney’s Lists.

Things I’d Hit Other Than That
 Those.
 Them.
 These.
 The other thing.
 Thou.
 This.
 Brooklyn Decker.

Rejected. And to think of the time I spent on that one.

I could will watch this about a dozen times (via GalleyCat).  I’m a fan of this chain, and shop there when I’m traveling to Texas on business.

Mitch the Zombie?  In the Honda commercial? Why exactly does he wear a seatbelt?

I wish to be the genius at the CDC who came up with these (and thanks to The Bloggess for alerting us all):

Review the CDC Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness Guide

CDC EPR:Social Media: Preparedness 101: Zombie Apocalypse

You might think that FEMA would be all over this.  Think again:

Oh, Twitter. Even I can recognize flattery when I see it.

Oh, please stop.  You’re too kind.  Oh, but there’s more, you say?

Twitter, dear Twitter.  Don’t ever stop lying to me.

The real question is, are writers made depressed (or crazy, loners, etc.), or born that way?

Because I’d likely be better at welding than wedding planning…

gut·ter clean·ing v: the act of committing one’s random or maddeningly obsessive thoughts to written form, so as to allow the resumption of unimpeded and coherent thought processes.  As in,

Unfortunate Title-Font Selections

Thought for the day, upon misplacing the car keys again: I do hate being a moron. It’s so inefficient.

Perhaps the opening line of my next WIP.