January 2014 – Paul M. Baxter

Close enough.

I am going to write a story where the flawed but lovable victim of a mad scientist’s gene splicing experiment says “I’m sorry. I’m only sorta human.”

My next book will be about a Greek woman who drives taxi by day and trains for a marathon by night.

The title will be DEMETER IS RUNNING.

I’m writing a new version of Crime and Punishment where all the characters are deer.

I’ll publish it under the name Fyodor Doestoyevsky.

Then I’m going to write a script for a movie where the life story of a famous Russian writer is told by a toy cowboy and spaceman and dinosaur.

Yes. That would be Tolstoy Story.

Sometimes I apologize to inanimate objects when I bump into them by accident.

If I bump into them on purpose, it’s generally nothing personal.

If the world was my oyster, how would I possibly get enough cocktail sauce to go with it?

When the moon hits MY eye like a big pizza pie, for an instant I realize the whole ‘moon is made of cheese’ thing was true.

When the moon hits my eye like a big pizza pie, I say “OW OW HOT MOLTEN CHEESE OW.”

Hey, how about an evil Sith Ewok? Or a Sith Gungan?

NO ONE WOULD EVER SEE THAT COMING.

The names I give winter storms are normally muttered under my breath as I’m out shoveling snow.

Is there any way I could secretly instigate a war between the Ewoks and the Gungans?

Ewoks are to Wookies as chihuahuas are to Great Danes.

Remember this. It may be on your next SAT exam.