Wow! I DO appreciate dreams ~ and tehre's the reason. Dreams have content. (Life, on the other hand...) (That's, I mean, con-tent, not con-tent. You knew that.) There is/ are so much Pennis in there ~ it's a crystal walk-thru, brim-filled and hard-packed with truth and humor and surprise and ice cream with a flat wooden stickspoon. It's fun, ain't it? Where else can you blend together all those life - time zones?
I guess they're bringing back the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile. This could be very old news, but I'm very old. Looks a lot smaller, tho. Maybe I'm bigger, right? I remember seeing the upcurved ends of the Original, in the early sixties, peaking like red fungus above the Market Basket parking lot in Pasadena, and I admit, sheepishly, I was excited. (Life must have already been getting a little dull.) (BTW, why do sheep admit things "sheepishly"? I think whoever thought up that term sheepish, was really just a generalizer, a rude aspersion casting, who maybe, really, only met ONE sheep.)
Yes, I admit I have a drinking problem.
It's hangovers.
If science and medicine and business wanted to eliminate "problem" drinking, sure, they could first eliminate hangovers, (and yes, I'm aware most fen-suckled hell-loveds on this thread passed this stage of maturity decades ago, but I will not soil my development with development) ~ they could really dent drinking altogether, if they could just figure out how to reverse the process.
You know, hangover first, a full-dysfunctional day long, day and a quarter long bayer-bromo-pepto-suckling one; and then the buzz, giggling, gee-I'm-brilliant, naked-mole-rat I'm having a Good Time! lawn rolling. I must have missed that laundry symbol that says don't mix techie displaying new toys with glassfulls of straight (we're not "neat") 600 proof Hawaiian Rum. ("We don't really need ice.") His mom (!) had been in cleaning that morning, and all the glasses were arranged so daintily on the bar we were afraid to disturb them, but we had to. He has made me take the rubbers off my keyboards and he dumped his rum into his and I laughed. Poetic mussedtice. See how alcohol works? Boy o Boyardeep.
I really don't think anyone would drink. Maybe some kids somewhere; boyfriends of Jennifer with a daisy-dotted i.
Like, if people had to raise a fen-suckler to 18 before they could even try a fen-*uckler, there would be nun of that. (Besides, they'd be 36, or something, by then.) You see, however, Life, is a rip.
Why do you think they call it a showroom? They "show" you the car, whatever YOU SEE there, two pan pizzas, ~ not the stacks of payments, jumpsuits with "Ed" on them wringing handrags, and Jennifer's Learners Permit.
Just like Jennifer's showing that kid her underwear. Oh dear. Sorry.
("Get out of the car, Timmy! ...Run!!!" )
What is a fen? Did anyone know without looking it up? Dumb question, I mean the second one.
Good morning, neighbors and whey. ~ yadda yadda boy
(PS, Penni, are you going someplace "special" for lunch? Like...) |
