I Got a Head Full Of Ideas That Are Driving Me Insane

by pjmcbride

…the title one of which I stole from Bob Dylan, but I’m guessing he can’t copyright ideas driving you insane.


Remember when I told you about the mascara designed to clump up on your lashes, so you look like, well, someone with clumpy mascara? Well, this month’s InStyle magazine has a manicure with deliberately chipped-looking nail polish. “The manicurist applies the color in a jagged pattern a little short of the nail tips, to get the chipped effect.” Really? You can wear it with your clumping mascara, and be sure to add that hair-styling product that makes your hair look unwashed. Or, better yet, just don’t wash your hair and use dry shampoo to soak up the oil–I actually see that recommended frequently, so the shampoo doesn’t fade your dye job. Next they’ll be saying don’t shower, just use baby wipes. And then the end will come.


From Mental Floss–“What Happens To Your Body After Death.” No, I’m not telling you.


–Do you feel teased yet, Nick? (“Do you feel tased yet?,” he answers grimly.)

When last we saw our hero, he was flying (literally) to the scene of a fire. I ran in that direction in a panic (not literally, of course–I don’t panic). I could just see myself getting in trouble, because a trained and equipped beast is an expensive piece of police department property (although less expensive than a police helicopter). Luckily, it was easy to keep him in sight, and follow him to the house in question. Flames were shooting through the roof.

An onlooker saw him and pointed at the sky. “Is that a–”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ve heard about those,” the man said dreamily. “But to actually see one in flight–magnificent!” The sun flashed off Nick’s dazzling-white underside as he circled slowly in the air. (He’s assured me he can actually hover while airborne, but I don’t take his word for things.) Then, having sized up the situation, he lowered his head, and dove straight for the fire.

A horrible thought flashed through my mind–in his endless quest to breathe fire, Nick was going to actually inhale the flames! Desperately, I raised my voice and called to him, but there was no sign he’d heard.

“My dog!” The woman’s scream startled me. She pointed to the burning house. A little dog stood trembling on the porch. It looked at its owner, then looked back. It headed toward her, then panicked at all the strangers gathering, and turned, trotting back to the house. And then yelped as Nick’s jaws closed on it.

I started toward him, but he leaped into the air again, his wings fanning the flames, the dog still carefully clasped in his mouth. He had cleared the roof and was ascending steadily, and then the roof fell in, sending a shower of sparks skyward which hit his wing–the only part that’s not armor-plated.

To his everlasting credit, he managed to glide down safely, and set the small dog on the ground beside its owner, before collapsing. I could see an actual hole in his wing, with smoke curling up around it.

He was trying to say something. I leaned closer–thinking at the same time, How stupid am I? He’s in pain, he’ll probably bite my head off!–and he said, “I don’t want…to breathe fire…any more.”