What do you call yourself when you don’t have enough energy to be a hipster any more? A napster? Oh, wait, that was another internet kerfuffle.
Tired Tad Takes Time To Tell Thee: ’Til. Tomorrow. Ta-Ta!
From the Adult Swim site. I had forgotten how incredibly cool white people were in the nineteen eighties.
Everybody’s always trying so hard to be smart. I think it’s better to be stupid. More fun, less responsibility, and you have a much larger choice of candidates to vote for, not to mention more things to “like” on Facebook.
The important part about swimming in a sea of chaos is: Don’t stop paddling.
2 April 2012
I think turtle is ready to go back into his regular tank, one way or another. He’s rapping on the glass of the feeder tank and whistling the theme from “Papillon.”
There is no reciprocity. Men love women. Women love children. Children love hamsters. Hamsters don’t love anyone.
Rotten cat. Senile cat. Smelly turtle. Opaque fish. Reasonable lizard. Tiny, mad dog. Other tiny, mad dog. Poodle, the black sheep. And the massive load of Beagle tissue and bone my son referred to as a “tectonic plate,” because he oozes around the bed displacing all other creatures. And the people who live here? Don’t get me started. I am the only sane one left, but I’m only hanging by a thread.
Am not yet sure if the day is to be trusted. Suspiciously bright and clear. But I know the rain is probably just hiding behind something, waiting to jump out.