In Which Your Humble Blogger really is just out of ideas for these pull quotes. Nine? What has nine lines? I mean, I wasn’t really going to make it to sixteen anyway, was I?
In Which it was so cold this morning that the stop sign turned blue. That the sign said ‘S-s-s-s-st-st-stop’! It was this cold.
In which there’s the center service line and the service line, and a singles sideline and a doubles sideline, and there’s the baseline. And the net, which makes seven—there’s a line for the net, too, but it’s just called the net.
In Which Your Humble Blogger casts K’un, the receptive force. All broken lines. Pauses. Between.
In Which Your Humble Blogger, um, something fifth. Whiskey? Self-incrimination? Evidently there’s something about a fifth line when a person goes kiteboarding, but I couldn’t even make a joke about that. Hm… A clef? In Which Your Humble Blogger, like every other boy, deserves favour? Does that work?
In Which Your Humble Blogger could use some sort of hockey reference for the pull-quote, but that’s a trifle obscure even for this Tohu Bohu, isn’t it?
In Which Your Humble Blogger firmly grasps the third rail and BRZZZZZZZZZZAP! Wait, what? The third line? Then why is it electrified?
In Which Your Humble Blogger follows the band, waving a parasol and singing, shouting, drinking, pressing hand to hand and… wait a minute… not that kind of second line.
In Which Your Humble Blogger warns Gentle Readers that not all the entries in this series will be long and interesting. Or long and boring. Or short and interesting.
In Which Your Humble Blogger had cleverly avoided reading any of the bits he wasn’t in, so much of the play came as a pleasant surprise. Well, not pleasant, exactly, but engrossing.
