I know it’s impossorous, but if I were king of the forest, it would only rain from 3 a.m. to 6 a.m.

If I were king of the forest, I’d allow cruel and unusual punishment for graffiti taggers. I’d thrash them from top to bottomus.

I’d banish bagel people who don’t separate Everything and Onion bagels from other bagels; I’d cane people who use an airplane toilet more than once a flight. Yeah, even on international flights. That’s what kings do.

I’d behead speeding car drivers (usually they come

I’ve moved from wearing a mask to a t-shirt that says: I came, I saw, I made things awkward.

These days, when I go to shake someone’s hand, I grab somebody’s fist bump or elbow. When I offer a fist bump, they shake my balled up hand. It’s a world where dance moves don’t match. I’m doing the lindy and everybody else is doing the tango. I try to waltz, they break dance.

The bright side is, people are more stingy with hugging.

Weird times. I had to check the history books. How the hell did

If you’re playing sports or a game any kind, the last thing you want to hear is someone telling you, “nice try” or “good try.”  Or anything like that.

Words will not make you feel better if you missed that putt by six inches or missed a jump shot with time running out. Or your jenga blocks fell after you got a little daring. Who, in the history of anything, has ever replied, thanks, I appreciate that, it really was a good try. Thanks for making me feel better.

You might start losing your

You know that old line, if you haven’t got anything nice to say about someone, come sit next to me.

Hey, I’d like to hear some juicy trash, too, but I’ve gotta be careful who I ask to sit down, they might want to talk shit about me.

People talking shit reminds me, The Rockaway Times turns seven on Saturday. Way back, they told me newspapers were dead and lots of other newspapers had tried only to last as long as Lime Bikes. They told me some people might say mean things (i.e. talk shit) and

I might have Attention Deficit Disorder but I don’t have the patience to get tested. I was filling a coffeemaker with water the other morning and I got bored doing it. I got halfway through filling up the reservoir or whatever they call the water thing on those Keurig machines and just stopped. I was bored to tears. I couldn’t take it.

Of course, yes, yes, I know –that would mean I’d have to fill it up again that much sooner. Didn’t matter, doesn’t matter. As the women of Be Well Be Happy tell

The son who will remain nameless looked out the window a couple of weeks ago and asked, you know what I’m not doing? Shoveling. He says I forced him to have shoulder surgery so it’s my fault that I’m the one who has to go out and shovel six inches of karma.

He had to have the surgery and I figured late November was a good time because, for one thing, it hadn’t really snowed the last few years. I was figuring snow was something we’d talk about like the good old days. Snow was only a memory