Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Meaningless words

There is a harmonica on my desk, glittering in the ceiling lights.  It speaks to me, and I speak back.  What a wondrous object, a producer of s=weet sweet tones and melodies.  The light reflecting off it is a mirror of the mind, a mirror of the soul.  It looks at me, and I am awestruck.  And alone.  So very alone.

I was going to correct that typo, but I think it fits.




I should make a blog post, but I'm too lazy to do anything substantial.  So here is a poem:

Your face is swiss cheese
My hand is gorneese
Widdlewaddle with wocks
Mr. Beejuss wears socks.



The Penguin Army

As I explore the dastardly time-waster known as Facebook, there are several viral cut-and-paste things.  If you've ever been on the Book of Faces, you've probably seen those before.  You know, the "my favorite character from Glee is Hog Dogerson, like this status and I'll give you a TV show".  Personally, they annoy me, so I decided to take one whose question was "what did you do when you were X age?", and make it my own.  Here is the result:

"When I was 37, I was lord of the penguin army. Of course, in those days, any bucket of decent fish would land you a spot in Penguin Corps, but I feel like I earned that title. We were preparing to go to war against the Polar Bear Federation, and I was getting worried; we didn't have enough manpower in the northern front to hold the line. In desperation, we signed the Penguin-Baby Seal alliance, something which would help us win the war, but come back to haunt us later."

It's important to note that I am not 37 yet.