Wherever you may roll
I think you have no motive
I know you have no home
No, I don't have melanoma, but then again, I could, my family is predisposed to moles; thus I have several... hundred, several hundred that is. Not that they're noticeable or ugly like freckles (hahahahaha, freckle freaks, I could feel sorry for all of you, but then again, that would require me to stop thinking about myself, and seriously what man ever does that... come on now). No my little marks are pretty well hidden of their own will, and the one that wasn't, well it met with an untimely demise known as the knife. Now there's an interesting occurrence. The chance to watch minor surgery be performed on yourself is, i must say, quite awesome. You should feel something, but thanks to the wondermousness of lidocaine, you stay totally unawares (must make note to steal massive quantities along with ketamine). It's bloody brilliant. No really, moles are pretty damn vascular (squamous cell cancer-like, minus the metastisis), so it gets really kinda messy unless the doc knows what they're doing (yo, Angela!). But then you gotta watch out for Scott Baio, and heaven forbid Ziggy should show up cuz then you know trouble is on its way. Wait, what was I talking about?
I was pleasantly reassured that I am not the only person with an extremely erratic albeit dry and hilarious wit when a woman from my building crossed my path today, literally. I was waiting to pull in the garage and had my headlights on as she was exiting the garage carrying some collapsed cardboard boxes. Now, a normal person would merely zip in front of me and then go into the building, but this woman, she was a card she was. So much so that if I'm as big a weird as I know I am, then she's probably a little weird. But let's not forget that I'm a big weird, shall we, that's the important part. Label away, as long as I'm clam chowder I won't raise too big a stink. But anyway, despite her age, she picked up her cardboard boxes like old fashion fans and did a nice little can-can across my headlights and into the building. No, seriously, she did, it was awesome. She exited the "stage" to a grand round of applause from moi. If only more of you lame-o's would watch some Monty Python or some Marx Brothers you could maybe be half as cool as this middle-aged woman, and maybe an eighth as cool as me. Yes, I'm aware that and eighth of zero is still zero, jackass. Don't ruin my puny thunder. Bloody poof. Anyhoo. I stumbled upon something wondermous on the intarnet this evening when I was bouncing from blog to blog to blog, but I don't know if blockquoting it is worthwhile since no one seems to have the same or any literary taste as I do. Once more, watch Monty Python, Flying Circus, The Life of Brian, anything. I think I'll blockwuote it, only because I like it and dammit if I'm not at least a smidge more important than you think I am, you dodgy lil bugger.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeh, I won't. I did, but that was satisfyng enough for me. I really don't need everyone and their mom judging my literary taste, questioning my artisticness and whatnot, you, you, you... JUDGERS! Yeah, I don't know what's up with that either. Go listen to Traffic by Stereophonics, or maybe even Black and Blue by Counting Crows. Personally, I'm gonna get back to watching BBCAmerica because I've become addicted to Changing Rooms and Ground Force America and House Invaders. It's like Trading Spaces only with accents from everywhere in the UK. The truth is I secretly just like typing the emphasis tags, which is: , but you can't see them, so nyeh on you.