Shut Up and Start Drinking
…actually, I find alcohol makes me talk. This post brought to you by a certain beast of my acquaintance, who accused me of being drunk, although I hadn’t even started yet. I guess that shows how much sense I make when I’m sober. I renounce him, and his pomp, works, etc.
IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE TO ME
I was reading about a guy whose psychological problems were made evident by the fact that “from childhood, he has always put his clothes on in a particular order.” Well, doesn’t everyone? It beats just standing there trying to decide in what order to put them on.
THE PERILS OF SMALL TALK
There are many, but let’s start with:
–Friendly female clerk at Thornton’s to well-dressed female customer:
“Oh, are you going to a wedding?”
“No, to a funeral.”
FROM THE COVER OF THE LATEST L.L. BEAN CATALOG
“The new sport everyone loves!” It involves standing on a surfboard in the water and using a paddle in some way, which I guess beats being up the crick without one. At any rate, I will not be doing it. Nor will I be racing across the Ohio River bridge. I was actually good at long-distance running in high school–the only gym-related activity I was good at and enjoyed–but being expected to pass over a body of water would cause me to curl into a ball on whatever bank I started from.
AN OFFER THEY COULDN’T REFUSE
CVS drove a truckload of money up to the owners of the properties at St Joe/Iowa, and their minions are now busily engaged in tearing stuff up and tearing it down to make way for the new store. What was once a house with a rosebush by the front porch is now, well, a front porch with a rosebush next to it. The bush is in glorious bloom, and I hope it isn’t slated for destruction. Perhaps I should adopt it. I could become the Rose Whisperer.
Hey, Nick–how about I have an apple ale before our ride-along? Just one, to take the edge off? No Intoxilyzer, right?