(INSERT THOROUGHLY GRATUITOUS PSA HERE)
THE FOLLOWING ITEMS ARE THINGS OF WHICH I AM AWARE AND I FELT THAT IT WAS MY CIVIC DUTY TO MAKE YOU AWARE OF THEM AS WELL.
Although it comes as no small amazement to me, nevertheless, I am happy to report that, as of this morning, February 24, 2018, I have yet (this being the operative word here) to inadvertently consume one of those real thin little pieces of wax-paper that they put in between the slices of cheese, to keep them separated. The slices, I mean, not the…never mind.
Please believe me when I tell you that I am truly a huge fan of having my cheese separated.
Of no particular import, I am also happy/unhappy to report that yesterday, February 23, 2018, was the 28th anniversary of my 39th birthday. Plans for a memorial service for my youth are pending.
If I ever decide to form another rock band, I’m calling it Cap’n John and the Pool Noodle Band (I just recently learned that the name “The Beatles” was already taken). Our first Billboard Top 100 hit will be “Llama Spleen Sandwiches Are Disgusting, So I Never Eat Them On Tuesdays”…it’s sure to be a blockbuster.
Always assuming you want your blocks busted in the first place.
And although this next thing I’m aware of is truly not funny, being in fact pretty damn scary, it does have its humorous aspects, the most fundamental of which is the explanation I have surmised as to why the “marbled crayfish” clones itself (see article at link below)…anything that ugly is going to have HUGE problems attracting a mate, believe me. (Reminds me of that SNL cheerleader skit from a few years ago…”U-G-L-Y, you ain’t got no alibi, you’re ugly.”) I’m trying to decide if the damn things look more like something from a bad sci-fi flick (like The Crawdad That Ate Cleveland), an alien from the planet Zatox or a recent re-animation of 100 batrillion year-old DNA by those Jurassic Park criminals. (They probably got the DNA strand from some saliva that was left on the wrapper of a Three Musketeers bar.) You want the definition of the term “spawn of the devil”…there it is. (Shawn of the Devil?)
Okay, I’m just free-associating here, you know, stream of consciousness stuff.
Back in 2013, one week after the passing of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, who you will recall had a reputation of being a bit of a ball-buster, guess what song was #2 on the British pop music charts?
“Ding Dong, The Witch Is Dead”. From 1939.
I have never to my knowledge, at least when I was sober, gagged a lolly, nor attempted to do so, and I can’t help but wonder what impact, if any, this has had on my ability/inability to play the flute. Be assured that I’m looking into this matter and will have a full report, along with evidence and indictments, within 120 days. We will also be investigating the possible (alleged) collusion of the Cap’n John For President 2020 campaign with the Burmese (rhymes with “striptease” and “spring breeze”) as well.
It’s called “Foreign Accent Syndrome” and I can personally attest to the pervasiveness and debilitating nature of this horrid syndrome; I once ate an entire box of Entenmann’s Raisin Cinnamon English muffins (with butter melted into them while they were hot, and with a big glass of cold milk…yes) right before I fell asleep and woke up alternately singing “God Save The Queen” and doing Freddie Mercury impersonations.
I find it sadly ironic (and fiendishly funny) that Girl Scout Cookies, one of the most addictive drugs known to mankind throughout the world, are mentioned in an article (see link below) that tells of the marketing of these dangerous, insidious concoctions by their fanatic sellers outside a “potshop”, where a harmless, medically sound substance is being provided to people with various and sundry afflictions and maladies, to alleviate their misery.
What a shame that we in any manner equate these two totally different, diametrically opposed substances to each other, although given the proclivities of cannabis, using one will most certainly lead to using the other.
Talk about a “gateway” drug…”yeah, man, when I first started with this shit, I was doing like a ½ box of Lemonades coupla’ times a week…now, fuck man, I’m up to 2-3 boxes of Thin Mints ever day, know-what-I’m-saying? It’s brutal, man.”
In no way was any of the above information of any value whatsoever to the ordinary common voter, but to a maniacal, determined Burmese dock worker, it was of the utmost importance and frivolity.
Love and knowledge, which should never be confused with “wisdom”,