The opening credits of "The Simpsons" shows Bart Simpson writing on the school chalk board the same sentence over and over again, (the ole "write it 100 times" punishment). Each episode however the sentence is different. Someone (not me, thank you) went to the trouble to tape the shows, watch and copy down many of the sentences that Bart writes on the chalkboard.
I will not carve gods.
I will not spank others.
Without question, the greatest invention in the history of mankind is beer. Oh, I grant you that the wheel was also a fine invention, but the wheel does not go nearly as well with pizza.
–Dave Barry
Not all chemicals are bad. Without chemicals such as hydrogen and oxygen, for example, there would be no way to make water, a vital ingredient in beer.
–Dave Barry
The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind.
–Humphrey Bogart
People who drink light "beer" don’t like the taste of beer; they just like to pee a lot.
–Capital Brewery, Middleton, WI
Always remember that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me.
–Winston Churchill
A woman drove me to drink and I didn’t even have the decency to thank her.
–W.C. Fields
Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.
–Benjamin Franklin
If you ever reach total enlightenment while drinking beer, I bet it makes beer shoot out your nose.
–Deep Thought, Jack Handy
Sometimes when I reflect back on all the beer I drink I feel ashamed. Then I look into the glass and think about the workers in the brewery and all of their hopes and dreams. If I didn’t drink this beer, they might be out of work and their dreams would be shattered. Then I say to myself, "It is better that I drink this beer and let their dreams come true than be selfish and worry about my liver."
–by Jack Handy
An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.
–Ernest Hemingway
Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.
–Ernest Hemingway
They who drink beer will think beer.
–Washington Irving
What contemptible scoundrel has stolen the cork to my lunch?
–Tee Mans
You’re not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.
–Dean Martin
Life is a waste of time, time is a waste of life, so get wasted all of the time and have the time of your life.
— Michelle Mastrolacasa
Why is American beer served cold? So you can distinguish it from urine.
–David Moulton
I drink to make other people interesting.
–George Jean Nathan
When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin. When we commit no sin, we go to heaven. Sooooo, let’s all get drunk and go to heaven!
— Brian O’Rourke
He was a wise man who invented beer.
–Plato
CD: The Chase
I’ve always been a sucker for descriptions of falling in love being compared to meteorological events.
I went to work for her that summer
A teenage kid so far from home
She was a lonely widow woman
Hell-bent to make it on her own
We were a thousand miles from nowhere
Wheat fields as far as I could see
Both needing something from each other
Not knowing yet what that might be
‘Til she came to me one evening
Hot cup of coffee and a smile
In a dress that I was certain
She hadn’t worn in quite a while
There was a difference in her laughter
There was a softness in her eyes
And on the air there was a hunger
Even a boy could recognize
She had a need to feel the thunder
To chase the lightning from the sky
To watch a storm with all its wonder
Written in her lover’s eyes
She had to ride the heat of passion
Like a comet burning bright
Rushing headlong in the wind
Now where only dreams have been
Burning both ends of the night
That summer wind was all around me
Nothing between us but the night
When I told her that I’d never
She softly whispered that’s alright
And then I watched her hands of leather
Turn to velvet in a touch
There’s never been a summer
When I have ever learned so much
We had a need to feel the thunder
To chase the lightning from the sky
To watch a storm with all its wonder
Written in her lover’s eyes
She had to ride the heat of passion
Like a comet burning bright
Rushing headlong in the wind
Now where only dreams have been
Burning both ends of the night
I often think about that summer
The sweat, the moonlight and the lace
And I have rarely held another
When I haven’t seen her face
And every time I pass a wheat field
And watch it dancing with the wind
Although I know it isn’t real
I just can’t help but feel
Her hungry arms again
She had a need to feel the thunder
To chase the lightning from the sky
To watch a storm with all its wonder
Written in her lover’s eyes
She had to ride the heat of passion
Like a comet burning bright
Rushing headlong in the wind
Now where only dreams have been
Burning both ends of the night
Rushing in long in the wind
Now where only dreams have been
Burnin’ both ends of the night
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d,
But they eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade
When in enternal lines to time thou growest;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;
So I for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharged with burthen of my own love’s might.
O let my books be then, the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that hath more express’d.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.
Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul’s thought, all naked, will bestow it:
Till whatsoever star that guides by moving,
points on me graciously with fair aspect,
And puts apparel on my tatter’d loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare not to boast how I do love thee,
Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.
Mine eye and heart are at mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of they sight;
Mine eye my heart they picture’s sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freadom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
(A closet never pierc’d with crystal eyes,)
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him they fair appearance lies.
To ‘cide this title is impannelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye’s moiety, and the dear heart’s part
As thus, mine eye’s due is thine outward part,
And my heart’s right thine inward love of heart
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,
Save, where you are how happy you make those;
So true a fool is love, that in your will
(Though you do anything) he thinks no ill.
So oft I have invok’d thee for my muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse,
As every alien pen hath got my use,
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing,
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feather’s to the learned’s wing,
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine and borne of thee:
In others’ works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
But thou are all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter—bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
A man said to the universe:
"Sir, I exist!"
"However," replied the universe
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
The wayfarer
Perceiving the pathway to truth
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
"In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."
I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
"It is futile," I said,
"You can never–"
"You lie," he cried,
And ran on.
Many workmen
Built a huge ball of masonry
Upon a mountaintop.
Then they went to the valley below,
And turned to behold their work.
"It is grand," they said;
They loved the thing.
Of a sudden, it moved.
It came upon them swiftly;
It crushed them all to blood.
But some had opportunity to squeal.
Many red devils ran from my heart
And out upon the page.
They were so tiny
Then pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.
Like the mighty Condor,
It’s vulture wings
Against a copper sky.
I have waited and watched
For my prey!
My victim is immortality-
To be something and be remembered-
Is that not, too, your idle dream?
For in remembrance we hold life itself
Cupped tenderly in aged hands.
You say-"He’s a fool and a dreamer."
I laugh, and let my laughter,
Like a bright and terrible knife
Go tearing through your hearts!
For you know and I know,
No matter how young, how old,
We are only waiting,
Waiting to see our names in
Scriptures
of stone.
So it is today and so it will be
tomorrow!
You never feed me.
Perhaps I’ll sleep on your face.
That will sure show you.
You must scratch me there!
Yes, above my tail!
Behold, elevator butt.
The rule for today
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.
In deep sleep hear sound
cat vomit hairball somewhere
will find in morning.
Grace personified.
I leap into the window.
I meant to do that.
Blur of motion, then-
silence, me, a paper bag.
What is so funny?
You’re always typing.
Well, let’s see you ignore my
sitting on your hands.
My small cardboard box.
You cannot see me if I
can just hide my head.
Terrible battle.
I fought for hours. Come and see!
What’s a ‘term paper’?
Small brave carnivores
Kill pine cones and mosquitoes
Fear vacuum cleaner
I want to be close
to you. Can I fit my head
inside your armpit?
Wanna go outside.
Oh, crap! Help! I got outside!
Let me back inside!
Oh no! Big One
has been trapped by newspaper!
Cat to the rescue!
Humans are so strange.
Mine lies still in bed, then screams
My claws are not that sharp.
Cats meow out of angst
"Thumbs! If only we had thumbs!
We could break so much!"
The Big Ones snore now
Every room is dark and cold
Time for "Cup Hockey"
We’re almost equals
I purr to show I love you
Want to smell my butt?
She walks in Beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,–I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!–and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
From the Book: Chloe Plus Olivia
The love that breeds
In my heart for thee!
As the iris is full, brimful of seeds,
And all that it flowered for among the reeds
Is packed in a thousand vermilion-beads
That push, and riot, and squeeze, and clip,
Till they burst the sides of the silver scrip,
And at last we see
What the bloom, with its tremulous, bowery fold
Of zephyr-petal at heart did hold:
So my breast is rent
With the burthen and strain of its great content;
For the summer of fragrance and sighs is dead,
The harvest-secret is burning red,
And I would give thee, after my kind,
The final issues of heart and mind.