Random questions at 4 a.m.So I'm in the middle of editing a novel manuscript for a friend when a couple of questions come to mind:
1. Cows are females, bulls are males, and collectively they are known as cattle, but what do you call an individual animal without being gender specific? It seems like no other animal presents this odd quandary.
2. Why does "outspoken" mean "free or unreserved in speech, frank in stating one's opinions"? It sounds like it should mean the opposite, that other people "outspeak" you.
-ma vie, the ruse: part 3--ma vie, the ruse: part 3- in Humor More Like This
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"So you're back," Cecil welcomed Robert home. "So proud of you, big brother."
"And you may imagine the..." -- Bob shuddered lightly -- "...'warm, fuzzy feeling' I got hearing you say that." His
voice was icy with sarcasm, as usual, but more tired than always. "How sweet. Think I need a root canal."
Cecil just stared at him with an air of boredom. "Ah, hush up." He then looked away from Bob, and cocked his head
to one side.
"I see you've brought company..."
"What...?" The expression on Bob's face turned to one of puzzlement, then to concern, and once he looked behind
him, to annoyance; for Katherine stood there casually.
"Ta-dah." she simply stated.
"You followed me?!" Bob inquired rather loudly, his hands almost automatically landing on his hips in annoyance.
It was throughout that evening that Bob an
-ma vie, the ruse: part 2--ma vie, the ruse: part 2- in Humor More Like This
* * *
Cecil Terwilliger, formerly of cell block 4, Springfield Penitentiary, was pleased to say he was not insane,
thank you very much. His life was (most of the time) perfectly normal. He had never tried to run for mayor on a
corrupted agenda. He had never married someone just to murder them, and he had never held the city ransom
with a nuclear weapon. No sir! Cecil was just about the nicest, most pleasant guy you'd ever want to meet.
It was his brother that was weird.
The red-haired Terwilliger sibling stooped down at their front door and retrieved the envelopes. As he
shuffled through the mail, he predicted that within them were bills, begs for subscriptions to trivial publications
about theories about a musician's surgically-enhanced nose, which rat-faced boy-band dropout would become the
next bubblegum pop sensation, or who Selma Bouvier was dating this week. His expressive onyx eyes blinked in