Before we get started today, I need to alert you to an important news bulletin. This was sent to me by several people, and, in addition to the overall heartwarming story it tells, there’s a sentence in the article that is so jarring and hilarious…
Well, just try to read it without busting out laughing. I challenge you. Oh, and just so you know, the sordid affair happened less than forty miles from where I grew up. I couldn’t be prouder.
But, at least we didn’t call green peppers “mangos” down there. WTF? They do here… some people, anyway. And what in the cartwheeling hell? Mangos??
I found this weird video a few days ago, which will give you a brief glimpse into the strange way people talk in this neck o’ the woods. I don’t think “mangos” are mentioned, but they do touch on “a cuppa two tree.”
At my job I’m supposed to work four 10-hour days. I’ve been working five days, and might go up to six (if they’ll let me). But I was wondering… what do you think would be the best way to get your forty hours in, during a week? You know, if they let you decide.
I’ve given it a little thought, and think I’d prefer to work two 20-hour days. It would suck, but I’m pretty sure I could do it. Then I’d have five days off every week. Five!
Do you have any opinions on this? How would you slice and dice yer forty hours, in a theoretical world?
Also, if you were a three-legged dog, which leg would be the best to go without? Would it make any difference? If so, tell us why. Use the comments link below.
My brain don’t feel so good…
And I’m waiting on a cuppa emails or phone calls, which is making me slightly crazy. Yesterday I was driving to work, and my phone made its new email noise, so I picked it up and took a peek.
I only took my eyes off the road for two seconds or so, and when I returned to the task at hand I saw that I was drifting radically to the left. Like NBC news. Luckily, I was already in the left lane, so there was no real danger. But it shook me up a little.
Sometimes I feel like I’m just one stupid, seemingly-inconsequential decision away from death, dismemberment, or twenty years in prison. Does that thought ever cross your mind?
Say, for instance, the email I’m waiting for finally arrives while I’m traveling on I-81, the devil’s parkway. I can’t resist skimming it. So I go drifting like yesterday, crash through the guardrail, and wipe out a blind-child orphanage, or palsy center.
Then, on the TV news: “the orphan-killer was… texting!” The whole community turns on me, and the next thing I know I’ve got an orange jumpsuit around my ankles, and a permanent frown on my face.
Or, say I’m at the grocery store, waiting in line behind some imbecile who is treating the self-checkout like a bomb he’s been put in charge of disarming. I sigh with exasperation, an argument ensues, and he ends up slipping and hitting his head on the carpet shampooer that nobody actually rents.
See? It’s a very fragile thing, this being out of prison. And I’m sure there are thousands of other scenarios that haven’t yet occurred to me, that might lead to the Permanent Frown.
How do you think you’ll be sent away? What tiny bad decision will lead to your incarceration? Tell us about it in the comments, won’t you?
And I’m going back to work, of course.
I’ll try to get more sleep tomorrow, and write a more coherent update. Three-legged dog? Good god.
See you then.