AdPock

“It’s not that I wasn’t listening, Honey, it’s that I forgot what I heard when I was listening.”

David always had an irrational fear of sharks, until one day, Brie explained that he'd have a much better chance of being killed by a falling coconut than by a man-eating shark.  After that, David always had an irrational fear of sharks and coconuts. 

Steve used to be embarrassed by his constant erection, but now that he was hitting strictly on cougars, it was a huge asset. If he could just get it to go down on holidays.

AdPock had been ignoring Missy since they first started dating. But now that they were married, she deeply resented it.

Bob was way into the communal concept of getting high at 4:20, but if he waited till then, he'd waste half his day.

60 seconds, motherfuckers. Just hang on for 60-fucking ticks. Christ, this is dick-sandwich time. Stop it. No bad thoughts. No bad juju, not now. Now is when the Fish need you most. It's now time. Hold the line. "Hold it. Right here, baby! We hold them here and it's ball game! Sweet Jesus who art in heaven, please let them hold it right here, baby!" "Does baby Jesus root for the Dolphins too, Daddy?" Asks Charlene, the yelling guy's precocious 6-year-old daughter. "Ask your mother, Char, Daddy's focusing...” The Dolphins don't hold. "Fuck!" First down Bills. Down to the Dolphins 34. But the Fins are still up by 4. "Right now, fuckers. Just keep 'em out the endzone, Fish! Right now!" "That's a quarter, daddy. Actually, two." "Charlene! Not now! And there's no charges during Dolphins games, right?" Now is when they always fucking take that big fucking bi...

Since I can remember, I've been affected by John Lennon. I recall vaguely the day he died, 34 years ago today, and being very scared, because my parents were very sad. It was the first time I can recall seeing sadness like that. But mostly, my memories of John recall being infatuated with his life of art. Every little thing that oozed out of him was art. And John made me want to be art too.  These photos of doodles, which I retouched today, are taken from random notebooks I've kept through the years. I imagine each doodle came to be, because upon hearing John sing, I stopped doing whatever it was I was supposed to be doing, and became compelled to create instead.   He continues to have that effect. So for me, John's as alive as ever.

Bill couldn't help thinking that he might have had a really promising future if his parents hadn't made him go to college.

A few years back, my father's associate, Barney Rickshaw, persuaded him to go down to the boondocks of Argentina to go hunt doves. That's right, doves: the birds of peace.             At first it was hard for me to swallow. My dad—whose knowledge of shotguns was reserved for golf tournaments—was no killer. I laughed at the prospect of him doing anything so rugged. So manly. I figured it was probably just a good business move, as Rickshaw was one of Dad's best America-fleecing clients.             Surprisingly, my dad came back from the trip a bon-a-fide killer. Apparently, Argentina for dove season is unlike hunting anywhere else in the world. As the birds fly to and from their roost, they fill up the sky, turning day into night. There are no regulations as to how many birds you can shoot or how many shells you can load. So for those two hours, it's a hunter's paradise—...