In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Ha Ha Ha.”
My life is a series of one-liners. For example:
I took a semester of French in college. My teacher’s name was Ling Chang, so I learned to speak French with a Chinese accent. Bah-Dah-Bing!
Some friends and I created some games when I was in college. We redesigned the card game “Canasta” and created “Quadra-Canasta”. We invented a group game called “Are We Having Pun Yet?”. Best of all, we were developing a board game called “Procrastination”, but we never got around to finishing it. … Think about it.
I know what you’re thinking: “How does he come up with these?” The fact is, These are all true!
Here’s one I didn’t make up:
There are three kinds of people in this world; those who can count, and those who can’t.
I know… comedy is serious business, and should be left to professionals. I should put the joke down and back away slowly before someone gets hurt. Boys and girls, do NOT try this at home.
When I bought this laptop almost a year ago, I used a program “Easy Files Transfer” by Windows to transfer all my years of work from my old computer to this one.
Now I cannot find those files. There is a “Migrated Files Report”, which is simply a Wordpad document listing what documents have been “migrated”; However, I cannot find anywhere on my laptop these documents, which included two books I was working on.
This is so very discouraging. I don’t know how to find them, or if they exist anymore.
******************* This article is based on the first chapter of my book, More Than Songs. *******************
By Mike Mattice
It’s quiet this afternoon in the Temple, a sharp contrast to the riotous mob in the streets a few hours ago. You had struggled to pass through the crowd on your way here to pray. The Romans were parading the Nazarene called Jesus through the streets, to the garbage dump outside the city gates to be crucified. The march to execution is a commonplace event; yet you were sickened to see the condemned man’s condition. He had been beaten so badly he barely appeared human; and although he could barely stand, Jesus was being made to carry his cross.
You remember, as you admire the splendor of the Temple around you, when Jesus tore through the courts of this blessed place in a destructive rampage, only a few days ago. You heard this foolish man say that if the Temple were destroyed, he could rebuild it by himself in three days. Now, a few hours before the Sabbath of Passover everything was back to normal in the Temple. The ranting of a lunatic could not stop the work of God. With the bloody image of the man fresh in your mind, you pray that death will come swiftly for the Nazarene, and that God will forgive his madness.
You marvel over the extreme reactions of the crowd following the procession. Some wept as though they were losing beloved kin. You’d heard that some of his followers claimed Jesus was God, and there were rumors of miracles. A people so desperate for a Messiah could easily be deceived. You must remember to pray for those poor misguided souls, that they would see the truth.
But most of the mob screamed obscenities and struck the condemned man with their hands or kicked him, throwing rocks if they couldn’t reach him. As you passed through the violent scene, you were aghast to see the faces of neighbors you knew to be godly people, contorted with demonic hatred. How could this fool incite such powerful emotion?