The Great Buck Ride (And Other Cowboy Poems) by Roy Smith
My dad's first book of original, authentic, hilarious cowboy poetry
More from 'The Great Buck Ride (And Other Cowboy Poems) by Roy Smith' »
My dad's first book of original, authentic, hilarious cowboy poetry
More from 'The Great Buck Ride (And Other Cowboy Poems) by Roy Smith' »
We did not speak, but held each other tightly.
We ate our respective dishes of colorful tasteless hot vegetable paste in silence.
Tina and I returned from our trip to visit great friends in Arizona...
Tina and I found each other's eyes and realized we had made a mistake.
The dampness in the air did nothing to improve the situation.
Wads of cash were dispensed in the lavatories in place of toilet paper.
The outlines are rough...
I've checked the tickets again. Sure enough. London.
Tyler as Rock Star
Stone is not eternal, and the blurred epitaphs all over the graveyard were glaring reminders of this.
More from 'Edinburgh, Stonehenge, Salisbury, and the End Of Things' »
It sounds pathologically psychotic, but you really must read it to appreciate it.
It is never fully dark in London.
Who would have thought it would be so difficult to speak the same language?
When we do photograph each other, it is an attempt to integrate the feelings that the place reflects in us and to accentuate and complement the true subject of the photograph: the place.
More from 'An Abridged Philosophy of Photography and Spring Break' »
Thankfully, he stopped trying...
More from 'The Great and Many Adventures of the Previous Week' »
Black Rod then walks down the corridor to fulfill the queen's order.
We take for granted our ability to communicate with each other relatively effortlessly, and in doing so devalue the beauty inherent in the language...
She was, in a word, abrupt.
In five words it is rural, cobbled, old, green and wonderful...
We hustled up and out of the depths of the earth to try to make it to the Theatre on time. We didn't.
Overall, the subject seems to be less the woman standing at the virginal, and more the light which allows us to see her in her calmly lifeless abode.
Trafalgar Square is brilliant at night.
I find I much prefer the English coins to American coins. The weight of a pound coin in one's pocket (no pun intended) is so much more psychologically comforting than a dollar bill.
I'm angry because my right butt-cheek has fallen asleep and the rest of me can't manage to.
I'm flitting around trying to remember exactly what it is I have forgotten (an exercise that is doomed by its very description). I figure I'll remember somewhere over Iceland.
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I am emotionally attached to my Believer subscription...
The current design is beginning to wear on me...
Talking with Mom...