A little Friday silliness: some lunatic anagrammed all the stations on London's tube map.
Half of them sound like Edward Gorey place names. New Queasy! Stoutening Honks!
I've been to the half-price theater ticket booth in Queerer Elastics many a time.
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This is the exchange I usually get.
RANDOM PERSON: So, you're a writer?
ME: Uh, yeah.
RANDOM PERSON: why are you not famous?
As if the sheer fact that I've stated I'm a screenwriter, somehow, has made my brain a bucket for all the best ideas in the universe.
I wish! My ideas show up after much treadmill running, and, to the irritation of my boss, during "synergy meetings."
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