I’m around. Spent most of yesterday putting together patio furniture and baby sitting for one of the neighbors. Today I have to put together a bench, a couple end tables, and one of those taut-netted pitchback machines (so I can break in a couple of baseball gloves).
On the plus side, once I’m finished putting all the furniture together, I’ll have a place outside to set up a computer. Next to grill. And a bar.
Which sounds great, sure—until you factor in that I have to share the space with an out of work armadillo who’s already called dibs on the slingback lounge chair, and who has spent the last few days eating nothing but chili rellenos, refried beans, and cold German sausages.
I have no idea how to characterize the sounds and smells I’m likely to encounter—but a rough analogue might be, say, a leper orgy that takes place inside a trombone. Which, looking on the brightside, is, if nothing else, at least kind of exotic.
That sounds similar to my day. Exect I’m in a 4×8 windowless room in my basement with conference calls scheduled all day (on one now in fact). Instead of an armored rat I have a cat that craps like a fourty-year old man in the box in the room next to me and last night the wife cooked up some kind of spinach and onion vegetarian feast. That on top of the leftover corned beef and cabbage from Saturday well… let’s just say I’m not on speakerphone. And I had to take the battery out of the smoke detector. And I’m feeling rather woozy.
Besides that, good morning.
Two words: air circulation.
Regards,
Ric
Leper orgies can be fun, picking up the various pieces that drop off and using them in novel ways….
Oh! Is that a fist?
Eh. I’m still trying to get all the scabs out of the carpet after the last leper orgy.
Next time: drop cloth.
I have, in fact, witnessed such a thing.
It wasn’t so much exotic as disturbing. Only about 1/3 of the total body mass of the participants ever made it out of there.
Have the Metamucil ready.
Mentioning leper body parts and cold German sausage in the same post makes me feel kinda…unsettled, somehow… Germans will turn anything into sausage, just like Americans will turn anything into a sandwich.
Puts me in the mind of the old leper sex joke:
What’d the leper say to the prostitute after he finished his business?
“You can keep the tip.”
What did the prostitute say in response?
“Don’t run off all half-cocked now.”
And yes, I loved Junior High so much that I decided to never leave – purely mentally, of course.
“There’s an eyeball in my high-ball,
There’s an ear in beer!”
Keep those lepers out of the hot tub.
Unless you really like Stue.
At least the trombone has a spit valve to assist in cleaning things out.
And while we’re on leper jokes, the nearby leper colony fielded an unbeaten hockey team. All the other teams would forfeit after the first face off.
This is no joking matter, gentlemen. Leprous debauchees take their dissipation quite seriously.
Sam Kinnison: “LEPER WHORE!”
Whatever you’re going to face in your backyard, you will just have to endure (and you deserve it anyway). The Armadillo is a sacred creature of Gaia and you have tarnished his habitation with your dirty, neo-con fascist modernism.
By order of the Goddess, you will surrender your slingback lawnchair, your grill AND your laptop. Though he will more than likely use them as a place to rest his excrement, he has divine right.
You’re a bastard.
(The Goddess apparently has nothing to say about the lepers.)
P.S. I’ll turn my head if you toss me some carbon credits.
Okay, joke’s over.
Turing = You cannot joke about anybody anymore, remember?
Alright SI.
Why don’t you throw your leg over your horse and ride on outta here?
We’ll get it back to you later.
I never thought to smell my clarinet before I read this post. That’s weird, isn’t it? Seems weird. Things get smelled.
Anyway I smelled it. It didn’t smell like anything but how old it is. But that was just once, the first breath. Now it doesn’t smell like anything at all.
If a ghostly WWI military band shows up in my lungs, Jeff, you’ll be hearing from my friend H. P. Lovefrapp, Supernatural Attorney.
But the important thing is: Cold sausage + pitch net =
You don’t get to see meat ricochet into the trees every day.
Really?
Yeah, BoZ—where’ve you been?
Armadillos are commonly served for supper in southern Mexico. I could get you a recipe.
commonly?
I’ll have mine rare, thank you.