Why I don’t fly – and probably why a friend takes trains.
If I ever have to fly, I need some volunteers to go to jail with me.
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Posts Tagged ‘security’
9 items.
I just realized I do everything in the AfterReich except business suits.
I really should put the SCARIEST people into business suits.
We all have an Udo.
Or we should have.
I was writing along and suddenly he says, “I’m Jewish.” Which I roll my eyes at smart-ass characters, but I’m only management, and they have a union.
Or was it, “Make me Jewish!”? While leaning over the paper?
Can you imagine BEING somebody else’s afterlife? And knowing the nuts and bolts?
Especially when you don’t really know your OWN? Talk about envy.
I love it when I get to make Pfirsich get all snarky. He does have a short fuse for nonsense.
We’ve all met that woman at the airport, claiming we need to yoke our own necks because there are wild cattle out there, and we need to live in a fence.
Oh, you think it wouldn’t happen if they could get away with it?
I should have mentioned voting booths – because now we have voter ID.
NO, I’m not afraid to point out my society is being a bunch of stupid Nazis, because I don’t have some uniform-based idea of how this happens. I mean, I started out as a kid loving uniforms, but then I had to dig down into the guts of the society.
That, or stop drawing the uniforms. And you know how WE are.
Rommel always seemed impish to me.
All of a sudden my characters started telling me what they’d really been up to. TOOK them this long, the little beasts!
Yes, guys like scented paper, too.
Remember the stags in the forest (for those of you who read issue #25)? Some of that running must have rubbed off.
Ah, where there is civilization, there is waste paper. Or waste shards of clay.
Rommel had several Swabian officers in his staff, and they’d speak Swabian to each other when he wanted things to stay within the Family.
Germans have so many dialects that one English infiltrator said that, when his odd accent was noted, he just named some extremely obscure village he was from, and they shrugged. All of Germany — or England or America or France OR — thinks the guy from the next village or province talks funny.
I’d like to thank the reader who sent me the Bristol dictionary — which I still have — who proofed my Bristol translation. I couldn’t do it without my SuperGeeks. No writer could.
