Here is a dude on a mission to rescue
A pelagic panacea?
But, like the boy with the barrow, the job was in front of us.
It started like a any other Sunday, surrounded by empty gin bottles and haphazardly discarded undergarments.
After pancakes, we ventured out, looking for fun, but expecting trouble.
In our travails up and down beach, we happened upon a strange and mysterious object.
“What is it?” asked the littlest beachcomber.
Jennifer murmured, “A box...?”
“A box jellyfish?” proposed Henry.
“No,” bellowed I, “it’s a conundrum”.
It was a conundrum alright. A conundrum wrapped in an enigma, inside a riddle, with a side order of mystery.
Worried that I might be faced with a lustful dame with legs up to here and a face full of unanswerable propositions, and fearful that the conundrum itself may contain a human head (or something worse), I shrewdly positioned myself behind the toddler and gently shoved him with my foot closer to the case.
“Open it up”, I venture. “It might be full of lolly snakes”.
Quickly clasping my hand over my wife’s mouth to stifle her inevitable (and protectively preposterous) protest, Henry approached the object in question.
“What’s in it...?” I whimpered, hoarsely.
I like the song Fat Bottomed Girls in an equal but opposite correlation to the song Bicycle Race. Think of it as Queen with magnets.
The Dalai Lama
Robert De Niro
Radiohead (since 1998)
Bill Hicks: if I wanted to hear crude and simplistic rants about politics, I’d just go back and work with undergrads again. Seriously, if the dude hadn’t died no one would give him a second thought. He’s like the Joe Strummer of comedy.
Frank Zappa: it’s experimental is it? That doesn’t make it right...
The Shawshank Redemption: number one film on IMDB? Really?!? How? Triumph of the human spirit? Overlong, dour, pompous example of agonizingly contrived and cloying twaddle morelike!
The Clash: where does one start with The Clash? Toffs hating toffs? Tick. Lionising mindless action over thought? Tick. Mediocre chords that seem pedestrian when compared to anything not prog-rock related? Tick. A couple of decent tracks amidst a long list of crap albums? Tick. Let’s face it, The Clash are lyrically superficial, musically ugly, and frankly, little more than embarrassing poseurs slumming it (and not very convincingly, I might add). The Clash are the Bill Hicks of Rock ‘n Roll.
Pros and Cons of Toddlers Part Five
Pro #5: They're LOVING. Henry tells me at least ten times a day that he loves me. Sure, it's often followed by requests for lolly snakes, but I think that he means it.
Con #4: They're ROUGH. Henry has been known to fatten my lip, graze my brow, bruise both shins, dislocate my pinkie finger and rupture my left kidney, all at the same time. And that is just goodnight kisses!
The dissolution of an agreement, and
disassociated from his very being,
Desmond was disgusted.
Disallowed an explanation
and discouraged from discussion,
this distorted his disadvantage.
The discomfort upon discovering
the distasteful details of dishonesty,
Desmond discontinued to care.