There is a pecan tree that dominates my back yard. In early Fall, pecans rain down upon my deck with the satisfying *bonk* of nut meeting wood (10-year old boys in the audience are howling with laughter right now). Sadly, I hold no love for pecans and therefore resign myself to watching my resident wildlife munch themselves sick on my tree’s booty (more laughter). I expect that soon, in addition to the rain of nuts, I’ll hear the crack of wood and see a large branch crash to the ground along with the little furry bodies of obese squirrels who will just lay still, their breathing shallow and their little stomachs full to near bursting. It’s too bad they don’t wear pants; the poor squirrels have no belts or buttons to loosen. Along with so many life lessons that nature provides, the harsh reality of enjoying too many nuts is one that has almost unlimited applications: Nuts should only be enjoyed in moderation (pants-wetting levels of hilarity).
Enough innuendo about balls. It’s been too long since I last distributed props. Classes are in full swing and the lab work is both fascinating and potentially deadly, so my mind has been engaged elsewhere. Also, there was that break-in thing, but seriously….my silver lining is shaped like a new 42” LCD with 1080p resolution and a free home-security system. Boo hoo. Yes, the ring blah blah, but crying over spilled milk yakkity shmakkity. On with the props:
Sarah Brown’s an author. It’s a collection of teen diary entries. Can you imagine anything more entertaining than the collected teen angst of people who aren’t you? Of course, you can’t. The title is painfully appropriate and the excerpts that I’ve read are hilarious, so go forth and treat yourself to other people’s adolescent woe.
The Comic Curmudgeon is consistent entertainment, as are his legion of commenting minions.
Sticking with humor that reduces ten-year old boys to goo….
Aaaaaaaand some older Achewood. I’m starting to think that Achewood will be a perpetual prop because of its unapologetic awesomeness.
Finally, the words that a young Benjamin Franklin penned for his eventual tombstone. Surprisingly, they aren’t the ones that ended up being used, so I may just save them for my own, such is their perfection.
It’s contents torn out
And stript of its lettering and gilding
Lies here, food for worms.
But the work shall not be wholly lost
For it will, as he believ’d, appear
In a new and more perfect edition,
Corrected and amended,
By the author
Sir @ September 12, 2008