Okay, I’m sorry, people. I got nothing else tonight. You can all just move along now, and come back tomorrow for another dose of dingleberry.
(Somehow, that sounds like it ought to be in a commercial for Post cereal.
‘Now with extra-juicy dingleberries! It’s part of a balanced breakfast!‘
Okay, see? See what I’ve gone and done? I told you I had nothing, and then you pushed me, and this is the cockamamie claptrap you get. Sometimes, you just have to trust me, you know? I wouldn’t steer you people wrong. Just trust me, for once.
Now… show me your boobs.
No? Ah, poop. Nobody ever trusts me. It must be that lecherous giggling thing. It’s the giggling, isn’t it? Or the leering. Can you see the leering? I really thought the monitor screen would hide the leering. Maybe I’ll start wearing sunglasses to blog. Eh.)
Anyway, none of that is the point. I don’t know what the hell it is — demented, perverted, maybe even maniacal — but it’s not the point. The point is that I’m out of juice for the night, metaphorically speaking. I’ve put all my creative squeezin’s into my standup set for tomorrow night. I even put in stuff like ‘Miss Sassychaps’ and ‘hot pink Speedos’ and a bit that involves ass waxing.
Um, just tangentially, really. It’s not all about… uh, ‘backyard deforestation’. Just a little bit. A one-liner, really. Just forget I mentioned it. It looked better on paper, okay?
Okay, that’s enough. This isn’t getting any better, and I don’t have the horses tonight to hoist it up by the petard and fix it. Or to bother looking up ‘petard’. I think it’s part of a flower, or something. It’s probably not important — I think it’s best if I just go to bed now. You folks stay as long as you like; just turn off the lights and let yourselves out when you’re finished, okay? Nighty-night, nice people.Permalink | 5 Comments