The Fall rain, that is. Which means that I'll be late for work. I could leave at 6 and still be late for work. Because people hereabouts conveniently forget how to drive in the rain. Every fucking time. I just don't get it. Because it rains here a lot. And they forget every fucking time.
We'll just call it one of life's mysteries, won't we? Like the mystery hut in Kentucky- or where ever it is- I read about it once when I was little. Or like the insistence on calling Racquel Welch a sex symbol. The woman is a grandmother! NOT sexy. Lovely, yes. But definately NOT sexy. (I'm pretty sure I'm going to catch crap for that one, but so be it) Or the insistence on worshipping Elvis. He's dead, people, and isn't coming back. No resurrection. None. And his music is static. No new stuff. Thus it might be time to move on. Find another CD to intersperse in the player. Something new. Just try it. It might be a good thing.
Crap. No putting it off. Gotta go face the idiots.
"The caretakers of the various cemeteries involved report that no ghosts walk."
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4 comments:
Reminds me of Albuquerque. It just barely gets cold enough to snow twice, perhaps three times a year. When it did, driving to work was like unwittingly bieng in a 4 lane crash up derby.
I've seen cars actually flying through the air. Ahhh natural selection at work. It's too bad that idiot drivers don't kill themselves before they reach spawning age.
"Or the insistence on worshipping Elvis. He's dead, people, and isn't coming back. No resurrection. None. And his music is static. No new stuff. Thus it might be time to move on."
What about worshipping Jesus? Now that's a mystery. At least we have proof that Elvis existed.
But the only miracle that Elvis provided was shooting Wayne Newton on the TV. Gotta provide for the masses if you want to lead a religion. FREE WINE!!! (I imagine some kind of fishy/bready/winey tailgaiting party- with sandals)
And Bill, If I remember correctly, you have also been thrust airborne- and lived to tell of the thrill of it all. Keep the faith. They'll all die someday.
Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.
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