It had been an embarrassing moment, like the one you get when you realize for the first time that you have what it takes to become an accountant.

Many things have been compared to a brick, mainly as a tribute to their intellect or to their aerodynamic characteristics.

Master Dung’s study was silent. So silent, in fact, that one might have been able to hear a gnat passing air, if only an obligingly flatulent gnat had happened nearby.

Her assignment had been to write a simple Sumerian code for preserving a jar of pickled eggs. (To the programming-inclined reader, this is the magical equivalent of “HELLO WORLD.”)

Simon did not solve problems, he just shamed them into going away.

Tuesdays are the worst. They are the spoiled leftovers of Mondays, repackaged with a new expiry date.