Craig is a self-mythologizing human industry with ambiguous yet curious product lines
Craig once thought the world was an oyster and broke his wisdom tooth on the pearl.
Craig ponders abandoned cherubs, bereft infants, feral waifs and starving gamins stalking the earth for food.
Craig in real-time stares at tomorrow through a veil of water.
Craig is eating a lot of TV and throwing away the peaches.
Craig says don’t worry and be happy. This won’t hurt a bit.
Craig overheard the White Knight talking backwards.
Craig needs stimulus for his shovel-ready collection of terse, pungent haiku.
Craig dreamed of being adorned in a burnt orange muu-muu so he could watch the grass grow by itself.
Craig has finally admitted it will take 554 years to complete his “To Do” list.
Craig became immersed in the vast matrix and comes up for air to recalibrate his real-time identity.
Craig investigates clandestine telekinetic experiments at Massive Dynamic.
Craig thirsts for that glass of milk, freshly squeezed from a bovine reincarnate once blessed by Vishnu as a boy.
Craig is watching “The Hunt for the Unicorn Killer” about 60s radical Ira Einhorn.
Craig was exhilarated to watch dozens of baby white rats feeding at the Pampered Pets store this afternoon.
Craig has been seeking connection in high and low places; now if he can just plant a tipi on Middle Earth.
Craig favors storming Area 51 with techno-art machines stolen from Survival Research Labs.
Craig tries to understand that some people are not that “into” Jennifer Aniston.
Craig learned about suburban housewife belly dancing troupes called “The Monday Night Nubian Dancers” and “The Queens of the Universe”
Craig visited Funkytown to cavort. He now recognizes his hypnotic classical dance routine, resplendent in sequined Spandex, is like so analog.
Craig had self-esteem issues. They smelt of boiled cabbage, fish oil, tarnished copper, and cordite. Fortunately, cognitive therapy served as psychological Woolite.
Craig is fired up for thumb wrestling with the five-handed buddha.
Craig is exhausted and the monkeys are asleep in their cages. “Fringe” Episode 10 is playing in the background.
Craig is applying the Boswell hair replacement system to his Chia Pet.
Craig is chastened, shaken, and stirred. He’s sported a purple aura today that painted him into deep corners.
Craig watched as the dog chased the red kite over the grassy hill until both were out of sight.
Craig would implant a fiery blue sapphire in his navel but he has an “outie.”
Craig channels TV pitchman Billy “Oxiclean” Mays and is looking for products to “shout-out.”
Craig ponders the existence of creatures great and small, such as rodents, mites, germs, seed ticks and so forth.
Craig ponders then eschews the virtues of strict obedience to monastic practices.
Craig is only truculent when confronted with a nether eye in the hinterlands.
Craig gets satisfaction from handing out protest signs at the corner drugstore.
Craig is tempted to wear his hair shirt today, knitted with lovingcare from Corgi fur.
Craig observes that Ayn Rand would have a contrarian view.
Craig remembers Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams of trees on fire.
Craig was a pirate’s wharf skank in another life.
Craig knows even a caveman can do it.
Craig just saw his own shadow.
Craig is caught in the vortex between ennui and entropy.
Craig’s laser beam focus is scattered like mercury hitting a titanium fan.
Craig’s mind is a witch doctor throwing virgins into the volcano.
Craig walks the earth with an entourage of whispers.