Monday, August 31, 2009

Best Not to Worry About it

Ok, Carbon Black is a problem like asbestos is a problem. Now, I know. That’s not too bad. My secret is that I only called my essay about the history of pencils a “rough draft“ to protect myself; I don’t plan on doing anymore “writing” than asking experts to prove me wrong and then changing things accordingly.

I was going to complain about this to my best friend today, but as he bought me lunch I decided I enjoying listening to his stories more than the sound of my own voice. His are the kinds of stories that start out being funny because the he is already laughing, and then they really get funny after the punch line when you hear all the little details getting repeated in different ways.

Besides, dressing better would solve Ninety seven percent of my problems. Fashion is about two rules. One. Have a nice body. Two: Keep it simple. Also, what was true in the Nineteenth Century is true now. No one cares where you came from or where you live, but they will judge you on how you dress. There are homeless people around the world that are putting me to shame, daily.

Hey! Somebody in the kitchen, get this guy a plate of food! Why? He just said something funny, and were shining a ray of selective generosity on his humble, showboating ass. If everything is already packed up don't worry about it, but I think there is a lot of potato salad left over from that catering event that no one is going to eat. - This particular "no one" can eat. What can do you do?

Bums are sometimes good for a bawdy limerick. But, my heart bleeds for the poets whose works are going under appreciated. Granted, not all men's toes point down, when women’s toes point up, nowadays. But, it’s still the game of Twenty-Toes that’s played all over town. And, whiles were on the subject, I don’t think it’s physically possible to “bob” pubic hair, even if the skirts are getting too short. Are his limericks filthy? Yes. Are they worth a listen? Double Plus Yes.

Whenever it’s a sunny day and the wind is really howling and I am sitting in a fetal position, daydreaming. This version of myself is almost completely at peace, except that I am missing a human teddy bear to quietly hold. If I were somehow offered a mail order bride during one of these moments, I would be inclined to accept unconditionally.

Incidentally, she already said Yes. Then in another letter, she said, she didn’t know what there was between us. I am glad she is as confused as I am, about her accepting my post-dated wedding proposal. I asked her to join me after she graduates college during a romantic lapse in judgment. This lapse in judgment is the second one I have had since, "our entire relationship."

The history of women is starting out horizontal and then attempting to defy gravity. When men try to do this they look like failed women. I have come to recognize this over so many years in so many examples that I don't feel like I have to explain it to someone else.

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