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Another great use of the ALL email address…

Posted in Crazy Wisdom on Tuesday, February 18, 2003 at 11:09 am by flerly.

What with all the sadness and trauma going on in the world at the moment, it is worth reflecting on the death of a very important person which almost went unnoticed last week. Larry LaPrise, the man who wrote “The Hokey Pokey” died peacefully at age 93.

The most traumatic part for his family was getting him into the coffin.

They put his left leg in… and then the trouble started.

Should I tell her he actually died in 2001 at the age of 83? No matter.. this is still cute I guess. Cute enough to merit being sent to the annoying ALL email address? Why, perhaps this sets a new standard as what can be considered “ALL-worthy”. I think I have a big stack of penguin jokes around here somewhere I’m sure everyone would LOVE to read…

Anyway… yesterday/last night inhaled the entire ass… and now I’m so freaking tired… uh-gain. *sigh*. Well, as I was sitting here at work cussing the weather outside, my car was sitting out in the back parking lot with the headlights on, making sure all the other parked cars could see it clearly in the rain, apparently. Yes, kids, left my lights on. Had to get a jump start in the rain and cold. Made me quite late, actually. Walked out the door to leave at 5. Ended up sitting here until almost 5:30 waiting for help. Of course, the DSL at home was being flaky and nobody can hear the phone ring while they’re downstairs, so nobody at home knew what was going on. Thus, I just came home even more starved, cold, and grumpy… especially since I discovered that Car Max did not manage to include the cards with the code to my stereo when I purchased it. Looks like it’s going to cost me $40 (on top of having to take out the radio to get the serial number) to get a code to unlock it.

Joy of joys. Guess for a while at least, I’ll get to Enjoy the Silence.

It’s better that way. Usually I just mumble under my breath about all the “slow-ass mutha bitches” in my way, taunting them to go back to their lame remote Georgia county and get the fuck out of my lane, and it all just fades into the noise of whatever music is blaring. Now I can hear myself cussing other cars more clearly, and can not only enjoy the emotional release of the cussing, but also the humor of the strange strings of words that seem to come out of me unbidden in traffic.

and then.. and then… I have a customer meeting at 1 and can’t go to cheese.
and then.. and then… I get a run in my stockings right on top of my thigh where there is NO way to hide it.
and then.. and then… I get to go to Old Navy and buy some pants to put on — I need the retail therapy anyway.


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