So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...
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But by the look of it, even Henry seems to be indecisive about whether he likes the situation that he is in or not.
Hmmm, as the Bard said: To be (happy) or not to be (happy)....
The most utilised footwear in my boys' wardrobes as youngsters. The saviour of their mother! So easy to put on and take off...and so easy to clean after a long day in mud and puddles (sometimes the puddles actually did the cleaning!!)
I can jump in puddles: Henry McCracken.
But we don't get much rain and no snow at all here in our part of India, so what to do?
Where's the combination??
The only time I wore these things, I couldn't walk five steps without holding on to someone or something :-( That was the time I took a pledge never to wear these treacherous things again.
Tasmanian supermodels wear them.