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Friday, November 14, 2003

While My Kazoo Gently Weeps

You only get one chance to ride the tidal wave of bananas. It comes around once and then it's parsley. You can always use an extra hand when your head is afoot.

I am a tomato.

"Gather your moles in groups of two and three, my child." "But why, Mother?" "Hush, child! Your father will be home soon, and if he heard such talk, he'd whack you on the head."

Always eat sandwiches, no matter what else you're doing at the time. It's better that way.

Well, you've made it this far. Those first four paragraphs were just there to weed out the people who aren't really interested in what i have to say. I call them "Garden Implement Paragraphs" for that exact reason. Now for the real topic. A scissors. I've got it right here in my hand. With every keystroke, it stabs me in the palm, because i'm holding it in a very awkward way. My blood is weird. I mean, it looks like blood, but it tastes like electric shock. It might be the keyboard. My hands are all sticky all of a sudden, and the keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeys are sttttttttttttttttarting to sticccccccck down. Let me go washhhhhhhh my hands................................................................................................................
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................................ Oh, crap. That key stuck down the whole time i was gone, didn't it? Well, this post is ruined. Add it to the list, which now includes the computer, the scissors, my fine motor skills, my pants, my fictional empire's economy, certain portions of my epidermis, and my clean white "I Am Not A Communist" shirt. Scissors is evil. Eggplant would make a much better friend.

In closing, you generally have to mop the floor, turn off the lights, lock the door, and remove any unconventional items from the bottom of the deep fryer. Thank goodness that is not my job anymore.

(Today's title sounds wicked live, by the way.)

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