tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76726602024-03-06T22:50:24.902-05:00Steven FullerSteve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-62914906660551826132023-03-08T22:00:00.020-05:002023-03-09T17:30:08.656-05:00My Dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsS_8YmEBTPG6e7PZBJC3uDyIDQ4V18u9qbJYrnrqmCDc0W3brhTPd4o9cVv_ObQ9iOLA451f7sv9W9EYIfX-yEJKpo024_40kYA9Bdh4ZiUX__G0yRoiKXEXEOxFZ8pmSmV5Z4fl4StH9YPS38fvIZWxlW8rSW2plbhmSCEFIf031V63BA/s3338/Dad%20Car.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3072" data-original-width="3338" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfsS_8YmEBTPG6e7PZBJC3uDyIDQ4V18u9qbJYrnrqmCDc0W3brhTPd4o9cVv_ObQ9iOLA451f7sv9W9EYIfX-yEJKpo024_40kYA9Bdh4ZiUX__G0yRoiKXEXEOxFZ8pmSmV5Z4fl4StH9YPS38fvIZWxlW8rSW2plbhmSCEFIf031V63BA/w400-h368/Dad%20Car.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">My father, Aubrey Fuller, passed away on Thursday, February
23. He went to the Emergency Room a week earlier with dizziness and shortness
of breath. He was diagnosed with lung cancer. His decline was swift and
shocking. I couldn’t believe that, within the span of two weeks, my dad went
from being perfectly fine, to feeling weak, to labored breathing, to barely
being able to move or speak, to … gone.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I still can’t believe it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I grew up knowing I wasn’t my dad’s favorite child. My
sister, Lori, was the first born. My brother, Chris, was the first son. Dad was
obsessed with sports, and Chris was always better than me at baseball and
basketball. Some of my dad’s fondest memories were coaching Chris’s teams. Up until the very end, he could recite baseball stories in vivid detail
from over forty years ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But something changed when we moved to Louisiana shortly before
my twelfth birthday. Because they were both adults at the time, Chris and Lori
stayed behind in Cincinnati, so it was just me and my parents for those three
years in Shreveport. I was a shy kid. Making friends—especially in a new
state—was hard for me. So my dad and I became buddies back then. He bought a
boat—nicknamed the green weenie because it was small, and well, green—and we
fished together on Cross Lake. He bought me a set of golf clubs and we played
our first hole together at a par three course. I hit a 5-wood that landed just off the green.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3fyOw1wP_6EhXYB-1ikk8VRARnbNEkNpVGnsagRbMlJ6HgUIRzAIzSkphLPtoHvbA39l5pL_o0D9gieuSRYe9GOE4jpLNSxuWyBTE0I9kohmOLCiptyhAqXfkHLbUjSDAGVMhEJYDsxAMc3W0-mSft3eODzA45mXPN7-GYpANc3rbd6L-Q/s3147/Dad%20Steve%20Sadie.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3147" data-original-width="3030" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3fyOw1wP_6EhXYB-1ikk8VRARnbNEkNpVGnsagRbMlJ6HgUIRzAIzSkphLPtoHvbA39l5pL_o0D9gieuSRYe9GOE4jpLNSxuWyBTE0I9kohmOLCiptyhAqXfkHLbUjSDAGVMhEJYDsxAMc3W0-mSft3eODzA45mXPN7-GYpANc3rbd6L-Q/w385-h400/Dad%20Steve%20Sadie.jpg" width="385" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was the first shot of a hundred thousand that we hit
together over the next thirty-four years. The last one came on September 25,
2022 during the annual Fuller Cup golf tournament involving me, my dad, my
brother, and my nephew. Dad was 81 years old at the time, so I worried it might
be his last Fuller Cup. Still, I was so focused on winning that I didn’t stop
to appreciate the moment.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I wish I had.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We moved back to Cincinnati in 1991 so I could attend the
same high school my brother graduated from. It wasn’t a prestigious school or
anything, but the area felt like home and that’s where I wanted to be. In order
to relocate, my dad had to accept a job transfer to Dayton, Ohio. He commuted
over two hours every day to work second shift in a General Motors factory.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">He did that for me because my dad always chose his family.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I’m sure he hated his job. I’m sure he hated that drive. And
I’m sure he complained about it. But I never heard the grumbles. He just worked
hard and supported his family and gave his children opportunities that he never
had growing up without indoor plumbing in Hazard, Kentucky. The same town where
two of his uncles were shot and killed while playing poker.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: justify;">Sixteen people exist because of my dad (and my mom, of
course). Three children, six grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtp9lvvnaI3LJSExCUrPnGs-mjPjUNCLJ6kYeVBPgTYfiT_wqhhVa_-Pbz1c-29AsBM6PekigQz9i8oJByIQ6xOpz5U159pJAkqeZHYGJCaXglZoUBOKg0Hp3MAQdKExkkG8ab6IG6DyV0ZhBKrS-a5TsnsnnH5O8I5a-rTvCBW8liYQMsGg/s872/Dad%20Mom%201.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="583" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtp9lvvnaI3LJSExCUrPnGs-mjPjUNCLJ6kYeVBPgTYfiT_wqhhVa_-Pbz1c-29AsBM6PekigQz9i8oJByIQ6xOpz5U159pJAkqeZHYGJCaXglZoUBOKg0Hp3MAQdKExkkG8ab6IG6DyV0ZhBKrS-a5TsnsnnH5O8I5a-rTvCBW8liYQMsGg/w268-h400/Dad%20Mom%201.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>Dad’s favorite pastime was bragging about his family. I
can’t count how many times I met a complete stranger—one of his waitresses, golfing
buddies, or neighbors—who knew my life story because Dad told them all about
me. I’m the UC professor. Chris owns a baseball scouting business. Lori went
back to school in her forties to become a nurse. He was so proud of us. Not bad
for the children of a man whose parents didn’t finish fourth grade.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Of course, he could drive his family crazy. He was stubborn.
My dad was never wrong a day in his life. Thankfully, no one else inherited
that trait. (Okay, maybe a little.) And even though we had to scream in order
for him to hear us, he refused to get a hearing aid. His opinions were
problematic in the way that many older white men’s opinions are problematic,
but I watched him soften over the years as he learned to embrace people over
stereotypes. While so many others in his generation became more hateful in
their later years, my dad chose love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That’s because, for all of his flaws, Dad had a huge heart.
Especially for a man from an era when men weren’t encouraged to share their
emotions. He adored dogs and cats, treating them like his babies. And he
sacrificed so much for his family. Maybe Dad was selfish—everyone is to some
degree—but I’m not sure I ever saw him act selfishly. He worked a physically
demanding factory job in order to support his family. He worked overtime.
Worked second shift. He coached our baseball teams, babysat grandkids, and helped
many of us financially, even though he had very little to give. He offered
people a place to stay when times were tough, even though Mom and Dad didn’t
have the square footage to spare in their small apartment.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNKzK2eDB_DH4gaGJJiLL53PEswooQF95FhdIQOop4jX9Oxf57sNKv9TScCSvIKDgwa0gWb4pDu30LbN3SJRvk5ASPu5PYVjyHe9kyClNjiOXhDUa3oYat2jPiotk_o0DiTY3MqnXacnfdkQSWuLj5INN2aRz1lOyl2OqftPv4hy_BgUdGQ/s1154/Dad%20Beer.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1154" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNKzK2eDB_DH4gaGJJiLL53PEswooQF95FhdIQOop4jX9Oxf57sNKv9TScCSvIKDgwa0gWb4pDu30LbN3SJRvk5ASPu5PYVjyHe9kyClNjiOXhDUa3oYat2jPiotk_o0DiTY3MqnXacnfdkQSWuLj5INN2aRz1lOyl2OqftPv4hy_BgUdGQ/w278-h400/Dad%20Beer.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And he somehow learned how to be such a good, loving,
sacrificial husband, father, and grandfather even though his own dad abandoned
him at a very young age.</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One quick story: My mom, brother, and I met at the funeral
home to make final arrangements. After we exited the building, a woman approached
us in the parking lot. Their Frisch’s Big Boy waitress—where my parents ate
breakfast nearly every day—heard Dad passed away, tracked us down at the
funeral home, and brought my mom flowers and a few of her favorite foods from
the restaurant.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Dad made friends wherever he went. He was a character. <i>Truly</i>
one of a kind. People loved him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Aubrey Fuller loved coaching baseball, playing golf, going
to the casino, and rooting for the Cincinnati Bearcats (the last thing he ever
did was watch UC’s basketball team beat Temple from his hospital bed).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">But, most of all, he loved my mom. And he loved his
children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and all of the pets we had along
the way. He sacrificed for us so we could have a better life than he did. My
father wasn’t perfect, but he was a good man. And a great dad. A lot of people
are going to miss him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We already do.<o:p></o:p></p>Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-41600351939468429452021-03-15T17:00:00.000-04:002021-03-18T10:43:54.423-04:00Make Good Art<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been obsessed with creating for as long as I can remember.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In third grade, my teacher (Mr. McCoy) made us write fictional short stories every week, then read those stories to our classmates. I wrote <i>Superdog</i> about a crime-fighting pup in a red cape. Writing and sharing Superdog's adventures made me happier than playing freeze tag at recess.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In fifth grade, my niece and I published a family newspaper called <i>The News Express</i>. We wrote articles ("Where's the lost remote?"), shared recipes plagiarized from my mom's cookbooks, and even included original crossword puzzles. I used The Print Shop software for artwork and printed copies on my dot matrix printer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ah, the eighties.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I discovered art in sixth grade and painted a few pieces that impressed my teacher (Mrs. Alexander), but when my masterpiece (a red rose so lifelike that it attracted bees) was rejected by the school's gallery, I walked away from a burgeoning art career.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I eventually rediscovered my true passion, writing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wrote a romantic short story in 1999. Two teenagers fell in love and lived happily ever after. Coincidentally, the two lead characters were myself and my high school crush. We dated briefly, but our ending wasn't nearly as happy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, I still have it. Yes, it's cringeworthy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wrote and edited a series of church curriculum books (<i>The Great Adventure</i>) from 2003 to 2004. I began blogging in 2005 and loved creating that online community of friends and strangers. I started writing my first novel in 2008. I conducted <i>The Church Experiment</i> (visiting 52 religious gatherings in 52 weeks) in 2009. I also wrote two short stories that year. In 2011, my friends and I made a short film (<i>When a Bear Kicks Back</i>) as a fun bachelor party experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since then, I have written four additional novels. I've hosted three podcasts. I served as managing editor for Rebel Storytellers. I co-created a party game that made $20,000 on Kickstarter. I've written a comic strip. Oh, and our bear is ready to kick again. Time for a sequel!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I <i>love</i> creating. It's not even a choice. I need to create art like I need to breathe oxygen. People who don't write, paint, sculpt, photograph, sing, act, dance, or podcast are aliens to me. Perfectly fine human beings, but I don't understand life without the gnawing desire to make stuff.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately, I haven't been wildly successful at any of it. But the older I get, the more I realize success isn't the point. Sure, I would love to be a famous writer or podcaster, but the real gift of creating art is the art itself. Both the process (I love writing in Starbucks while sipping a peppermint hot chocolate) and releasing a finished product to the world.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There's <i>nothing</i> like the feeling of creating something that wouldn't exist otherwise. It's a drug that I must inject into my veins over and over again.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We all have something to contribute. What's stopping you from creating your masterpiece?</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-72438084869970815592020-01-15T11:07:00.002-05:002020-01-15T11:07:59.205-05:00Email Inbox Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Thank god that's over</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Finally cleared my inbox</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ding! Son of a bitch.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-5573202983675078182019-12-20T14:18:00.000-05:002019-12-20T14:18:03.084-05:00Weekend Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Two days without work</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Let's make every second count</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shit, Monday again.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-52513905440635393582019-12-17T21:13:00.001-05:002019-12-17T21:13:54.055-05:00Snow Day Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
The sky opens wide</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ice angels fall from heaven</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thank you, Snow Jesus.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-90193645003639919472019-12-16T19:01:00.001-05:002019-12-16T19:01:48.939-05:00New York Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
So many people</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why a midnight traffic jam?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My shoes are sticky.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-18218421061856253802019-12-11T11:08:00.000-05:002019-12-11T11:08:45.573-05:00Airport Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Can't wait to get home</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Where can I plug in my phone?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Delayed seven hours.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-11205184869571939132019-12-10T11:42:00.000-05:002019-12-10T11:42:27.757-05:00Writer's Block Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Blank piece of paper</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Taunting me with your whiteness</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Please fill up with words.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-17674458479796806402019-12-09T21:23:00.000-05:002019-12-09T21:23:14.688-05:00Superman Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
What makes him super?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Can bulletproof men be brave?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He does have great hair.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-9971815888648026142019-12-08T19:43:00.001-05:002019-12-08T19:43:16.443-05:00Finger Food Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
So small and yummy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Why do I never get full?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just thirty more bites.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-45385869466936402062019-12-06T15:12:00.002-05:002019-12-06T15:12:42.918-05:00Christmas Tree Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Cute twinkling lights</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sentimental ornaments</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fuck, it fell over.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-38239951851418342522019-12-05T17:08:00.000-05:002019-12-05T17:08:01.599-05:00Karaoke Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Choose your go-to song</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Guzzle lots of alcohol</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sing like screeching cats.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-9000767065056410112019-12-04T10:45:00.001-05:002019-12-04T10:45:57.680-05:00Gas Fireplace Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Are there any flames?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This doesn't feel very warm.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think I smell gas.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-4297302921507667322019-12-03T12:36:00.003-05:002019-12-03T12:36:48.939-05:00Podcasting Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Let's start a podcast</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just posted episode one </div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are we famous yet?</div>
</div>
</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-83959691800005382192019-12-02T11:26:00.000-05:002019-12-02T11:26:51.295-05:00Cyber Monday Haiku<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A brilliant idea</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Exactly like Black Friday</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But stay home instead.</div>
</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-63547372755998267372019-12-01T10:51:00.000-05:002019-12-01T10:52:51.878-05:00Golden Girls Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Best sitcom ever?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Of course, you uncultured swine</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
More like Goldest Girls.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-20189607364348468182019-11-29T09:56:00.000-05:002019-11-29T09:56:31.437-05:00Black Friday Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Sleeping in is nice</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mall parking and long lines suck</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Gotta save ten bucks.</div>
</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-74290245921654018742019-11-28T09:05:00.002-05:002019-12-01T10:53:14.166-05:00Thanksgiving Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
What is Thanksgiving?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Food, football, friends, family?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No, it's alcohol.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-71093040000310865472019-11-27T13:50:00.001-05:002019-11-27T13:50:41.652-05:00Netflix Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
So many options</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've been browsing for three hours</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Welp, it's time for bed.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-9404232525610465682019-11-26T12:23:00.000-05:002019-11-26T12:23:18.314-05:00Work Meeting Haiku<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Pretend to take notes</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Talk a lot and make big plans</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Illusion of work.</div>
</div>
</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-64247352835744614002019-11-25T10:57:00.000-05:002019-11-25T10:58:08.901-05:00Cereal Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Perfect for breakfast</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Delightful for brunch and lunch</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dinner? Pass the milk.</div>
</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-16438466450045720982019-11-24T10:39:00.001-05:002019-11-24T10:40:31.900-05:00Sports Fan Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Hooray, my team won!</div>
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Stress, anger, screaming, cursing</div>
</div>
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Watching sports is fun?</div>
</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-15731081269700180332019-11-22T10:42:00.000-05:002019-11-22T12:27:42.281-05:00IPA Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Awesome brewery</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Forty IPAs on tap</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So original.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-14099829327142928952019-11-21T07:47:00.000-05:002019-11-22T12:29:00.845-05:00Exercise Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
Working out is smart</div>
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Makes me feel and look better</div>
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Guess I'll watch TV.</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7672660.post-33139503247940068332019-11-20T12:16:00.000-05:002019-11-22T12:29:14.699-05:00Time Change Haiku<div style="text-align: center;">
We fall back each year</div>
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Colder, darker, like clockwork</div>
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Why still so surprised?</div>
Steve Fullerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16769347413943816451noreply@blogger.com