Wednesday, December 17, 2008

stumpage and other esoteric defoliations

Day 111 of 365 in the “Marathon of the Dope” . . .

.....................................................................................................

Geez, now that I’m feeling almost great again, it should have been easy for me to come up with a bunch of content to entertain.

But today was the first day I actually had to stare at the screen for a minute or so before the old writing juices began to flow.

I thought of a response to John Cleese over on Twitter. He was wondering if somebody (forgot the name) was the real Archbishop of somewhere (forgot the place) because he was following a lot of priests.

My response should have been. Not unless he is also following a lot of alter boys as well, otherwise he is not a real Archbishop but a scam artist . . .

. . . Flat?

Okay, but my real point is not only Gits frequent Twitter - I mean, it’s John ‘Frikin’ Cleese. Mr. Fawlty, whom I absolutely love, perhaps even more than Black Adder . . .

Okay, so you are not impressed. Know who else is on Twitter?

The Archbishop of somewhere (forgot the place) - so there . . .

I’m particularly giddy this morning for two reasons.

1) last day in the slave pits for 2008 (possibly forever!). What is not to like.

2) My flu has flow. WooHoo, I like feeling good because the alternative is, well not feeling good.

One damper to this fine morning though. Snow. About five inches.

Which means I need to get out there soon and shovel, risking injury to my back and making me sweat which leaves me sort of stinky while I squat in my cube despite hi test underarm deoderant . . .

Okay, too much information - but why else do you come here?

I’m thinking my posts will start showing up a few hours later until early January since I’ll be enjoying sleeping in for a while, lunch be damned . . .

Um, why did that Buffy quote from “Doppelgangland” suddenly spring into my mind . . .

If I only knew the answers to some of those questions I may be able to solve the riddle of the third mile . . .

Oh, stop it already twisted mind, just stop it.

Until tomorrow . . .

No comments:

Post a Comment