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This strikes right to the heart of my inner grammar cop: The Vanishing Subjunctive.

Apparently, a midget fortuneteller escaped from prison today.

So there's a small medium at large.

Went back to the home country for a cousin's wedding this weekend. Very nice on all counts. Here is a random sampling of conversations, anecdotes, what-have-you.

Tourist comes to town, looking for some seafood, asks a cabbie: "Do you know where I can get scrod?"

Cabbie says, "Bub, I've heard that question asked lots of different ways, but that's the first time I've ever heard it in the pluperfect subjunctive."

Oh, God, please don't tell me that this Michigan team is going to make this Notre Dame team look good.

This isn't the exact variant we heard from my uncle, but it's basically the same:
"Do you herd sheep?", my Gramma sighed
My Grampa leaped in fright.
"'Your Grammer's wrong!", he loudly cried.
"'Have you heard sheep?' is right!"

Well, if Beanie had been healthy, we would've had those thirty-five points, and more, easy. [said by anonymous uncle in excellent imitation of a specific Ohio State fan]

Why couldn't I have a clown car at my wedding? [said by an anonymous family member as a tiny car disgorged an almost unbelievable amount of passengers]

So, who do you want to lose more, Notre Dame or Michigan?

Couldn't we just have the earth swallow up both teams?

Damn. I love beer. [said by anonymous aunt on her 3rd or 5th beer]

Hey, WVU doesn't play this week, do they? Sweet! We might move up!

Um... aluminum isn't a good conductor of electricity, is it? Oh, it is? Well, then thank God we're not sitting right beneath the highest aluminum tent poles I've ever seen with a massive lightning storm approaching. Hey, you want to trade seats? [said by an anonymous family member when staring at 20-25' aluminum pole supporting tent, as spectacular massive lightning storm approaches]

...they're magically delicious!

practically nutritious.

tragically seditious.

spastically malicious.

drastically officious.

...I need to go back to bed.

the Godzillionaires.

[ed: as an extra super bonus of worthless personal information, "godzillion" has become my go-to numerical tag for extraordinary amounts of money. Rather than be tied to any particular count of zeroes, a godzillion is simply measured as enough money to destroy Tokyo.]

I don't know what it is, but those who pun will pun again.

So I'm driving to go get a paper this morning, just a quick ramble around the hood. I'm listening to NPR, as I am wont to do, and they're doing a piece on Coptic Christians in Egypt. I'm barely listening, as my window is rolled down and I'm enjoying the (finally) warm wind on my face.

I stop for a red light, and a police car pulls up beside me, and the officer inside it and I trade sidelong glances, nods, and a short wave that says, from me, you're a cop and I'm going to try not to do anything uberstupid while you can see me, so please don't drag me off the road and shoot me like a dog, and from him, you're making eye contact with me, but you're probably not a tweaked-out meth-head, so I'll let you go without dragging you off the road and shooting you like a dog. This time. But don't look me in the eye again. Ever.

And, all of a sudden, completely unbidden, into my head pops the line, Cheezit! The Copts!

God, I feel so sorry for Lena some days. What she married...