It's the spoon that bothers me.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Girl with a Bengay Fetish
She’s got a Bengay obsession
with little discretion
Sends my naughty mind
For a Chinese digression
She’s got a thing, a fixation
and a crazed fascination
It’s more than just nasal
Inebriation
It’s mania
It’s passion
Tingly skin’s her fashion!
With a minty fresh smell
She’s really quite the bomb
She should have a column
Of how-to tips on bengay.com
She’s absorbed with the absorption
Of what’s hot in pain relief
She smears it on her body
It’s totally beyond belief
Addiction and engrossment
Do not describe her state
It’s the allure of the menthol
That’s sure to be her fate
I doubt she’d have the inclination
Towards the Vanishing Scent Gel
After all the attraction
Is that very bright smell
Takes it home and puts it on
Right next to the bathroom sink
Takes a sip of iced-down Tang
And hums Tigers of Pantang!!
I can’t say you’ll meet her
Or ever get to greet her
But if you did she’d tell you
“You DON’T need men, just get a tube of Ben!”
Much to my surprise
I get kinda headish
When I talk to the girl
With a Bengay fetish
-Mr. Bloggerific Himself, 06282006
with little discretion
Sends my naughty mind
For a Chinese digression
She’s got a thing, a fixation
and a crazed fascination
It’s more than just nasal
Inebriation
It’s mania
It’s passion
Tingly skin’s her fashion!
With a minty fresh smell
She’s really quite the bomb
She should have a column
Of how-to tips on bengay.com
She’s absorbed with the absorption
Of what’s hot in pain relief
She smears it on her body
It’s totally beyond belief
Addiction and engrossment
Do not describe her state
It’s the allure of the menthol
That’s sure to be her fate
I doubt she’d have the inclination
Towards the Vanishing Scent Gel
After all the attraction
Is that very bright smell
Takes it home and puts it on
Right next to the bathroom sink
Takes a sip of iced-down Tang
And hums Tigers of Pantang!!
I can’t say you’ll meet her
Or ever get to greet her
But if you did she’d tell you
“You DON’T need men, just get a tube of Ben!”
Much to my surprise
I get kinda headish
When I talk to the girl
With a Bengay fetish
-Mr. Bloggerific Himself, 06282006
Getting humped by the day itself.
It is 8:15am. I was bold and/or stupid enough to come to the workplace. It's not so much that I want to be here but it's pretty much that I have no other place to go. There is the concept of a paycheck, too.
Here I sit. The computer CD player is being a bastard and refusing to do the right thing and play ZZ Top's Tres Hombres. I've been stifling the urge to kick the shit out of it and then one of the secretaries begins to talk outside my bunker. It's difficult to sufficiently describe her voice, but it is about as pleasant as being boiled alive in oil. It's chirpy, it's loud, and it's steeped in Kentucky. I finally get the CD to play and now her voice is drowning out the beards. It's very disrespectful if not blasphemous.
I snuck in without saying much to anyone and when someone ratted me out, ol' Chirpy says "HEL-LO! DID YOU MISS ME?" Even a cold-hearted piece of shit like me can't be so cruel as to say "No, I didn't and quite frankly, I saw your empty chair and thought you'd quit. Things were good last week, but that seems to have been wrecked now." I took the high road and totally evaded the query about missing her and simply offered a half-hearted "Welcome back" in return.
There was some topic of conversation that drew me out of my office like Punxsutawney Phil after a hard night of doing whatever it is that groundhog's do. I was about to enter the conversation until it took an ugly turn and they began discussing colonoscopies, which was my cue to do a 180 and get the hell out of there. The problem being that Chirpy had apparently been the recipient of said procedure and wanted to talk about it. Admittedly, I have wanted to tell her to shove something up her ass many a day, but quite frankly, I didn't want to hear about it. But once she gets fired up, nothing short of getting repeatedly hit in the head with a boat oar will shut her up. She was fired up and I nearly did one of those Dukes Of Hazzard slides across my desk to get away from the shit.
Thankfully, the ass probe story was short-lived and they've moved on to other topics, but the tone and volume of the voice is still slicing and dicing the remainder of my inner tranquility and repeating the "Serenity now" mantra won't do a damn thing to bring it back. To quote my beloved I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House, it's "gone gone gone, outta here like Donkey Kong."
There it is, YPS!!-faithful. That's Wednesday morning standing there in all of its glory. It's times like this that I realize that I've made many a vocational error in life and this is how I will spend my grand finale. I'll be sitting in Disgraceland listening to some annoying chick chirp on indefinitely while waiting for the final fade-out and closing credits.
Bring it on.
Here I sit. The computer CD player is being a bastard and refusing to do the right thing and play ZZ Top's Tres Hombres. I've been stifling the urge to kick the shit out of it and then one of the secretaries begins to talk outside my bunker. It's difficult to sufficiently describe her voice, but it is about as pleasant as being boiled alive in oil. It's chirpy, it's loud, and it's steeped in Kentucky. I finally get the CD to play and now her voice is drowning out the beards. It's very disrespectful if not blasphemous.
I snuck in without saying much to anyone and when someone ratted me out, ol' Chirpy says "HEL-LO! DID YOU MISS ME?" Even a cold-hearted piece of shit like me can't be so cruel as to say "No, I didn't and quite frankly, I saw your empty chair and thought you'd quit. Things were good last week, but that seems to have been wrecked now." I took the high road and totally evaded the query about missing her and simply offered a half-hearted "Welcome back" in return.
There was some topic of conversation that drew me out of my office like Punxsutawney Phil after a hard night of doing whatever it is that groundhog's do. I was about to enter the conversation until it took an ugly turn and they began discussing colonoscopies, which was my cue to do a 180 and get the hell out of there. The problem being that Chirpy had apparently been the recipient of said procedure and wanted to talk about it. Admittedly, I have wanted to tell her to shove something up her ass many a day, but quite frankly, I didn't want to hear about it. But once she gets fired up, nothing short of getting repeatedly hit in the head with a boat oar will shut her up. She was fired up and I nearly did one of those Dukes Of Hazzard slides across my desk to get away from the shit.
Thankfully, the ass probe story was short-lived and they've moved on to other topics, but the tone and volume of the voice is still slicing and dicing the remainder of my inner tranquility and repeating the "Serenity now" mantra won't do a damn thing to bring it back. To quote my beloved I Can Lick Any Sonofabitch In The House, it's "gone gone gone, outta here like Donkey Kong."
There it is, YPS!!-faithful. That's Wednesday morning standing there in all of its glory. It's times like this that I realize that I've made many a vocational error in life and this is how I will spend my grand finale. I'll be sitting in Disgraceland listening to some annoying chick chirp on indefinitely while waiting for the final fade-out and closing credits.
Bring it on.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Home Is Where You Wag Your Tail
Home is where you wag your tail. Though the street may always appear to be cleaner on the other side, and your neighbor’s drain is larger than yours, home is home. Whatever packaging you have, take comfort in it. Sing us out, Edie Brickell.
Green
We like to spy on the neighbors.
They look so happy together.
Funny the power of strangers.
Sometimes I wonder if they got it better.
Green. Have you seen green?
Check out the view from the rooftop.
They've got a horse and a big trampoline.
Running and jumping till they drop.
Down on the ground and they're rolling around in... green.
Have you seen green?
Have you seen green grass?
So green... grass.
So green.
I'd like to be like that.
I'd like to be like that.
I'd like to be moving on a lawn... so green.
I want to laugh the way they laugh.
See all my blues get back up in the sky.
If only we had what they had.
We'd never worry and we'd never cry for... green.
Have you seen green?
Have you seen grass?
So green... grass.
So green.
I'd like to be like that.
I'd like to be like that.
I'd like to be moving on a lawn... so green.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Two of shit is shit.
In some ways, this will serve as something of a sequel or ongoing bitch session from the previous early morning bullshit rant that went largely un-noticed. In other words, if you didn't like that one, you're not going to like this one either. As the saying goes "Two of shit is shit." This is shit.
Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, 7:30 to be precise, I find myself working this educational phenomenon known as Sociological Theories. I make sure the interactive television equipment is fired up, functional, and then sit around for 4.5 hours pondering my own mortality. It could be considered quality time to sit and reflect on life, but it's more like being poked in the head repeatedly with a sharp object. 4.5 hours becomes a life-time and a half and I find myself wishing a band of gypsies would steal me away or the mother ship will whisk me back to my planet of origin. In other words, the shit sucks.
I am not sure what kind of evil bastard would even think of creating such a class, but anyone that would schedule it at 7:30, well hell, that's just savage brutality in all of its heartless glory. Thoughts turn to bashing my head into the wall to simply getting up, strolling outside, and wandering off aimlessly into the countryside. The problem is that I have seen Deliverance and I know what goes on out there. While sitting in this environment isn't a lot different from random pig squealing while some inbred fucker lovingly fingers a banjo, at least it is climate-controlled and raging humidity is not an issue.
This is how I will be spending each and every Tuesday and Thursday through early July. At that point, another session will begin and the same dude will teach a different educational hellride at (drumroll please, Ringo) yes, 7:30-12:00 every Tuesday and every Thursday through August.
So if you suffer from chronic happiness and/or perpetual insomnia, come on down and pay me a visit, because we can cure both of those afflictions in a jiffy. Just follow the continual stream of sociological psyschobabble and the sound of a human skull bashing against a light gray wall.
Every Tuesday and Thursday morning, 7:30 to be precise, I find myself working this educational phenomenon known as Sociological Theories. I make sure the interactive television equipment is fired up, functional, and then sit around for 4.5 hours pondering my own mortality. It could be considered quality time to sit and reflect on life, but it's more like being poked in the head repeatedly with a sharp object. 4.5 hours becomes a life-time and a half and I find myself wishing a band of gypsies would steal me away or the mother ship will whisk me back to my planet of origin. In other words, the shit sucks.
I am not sure what kind of evil bastard would even think of creating such a class, but anyone that would schedule it at 7:30, well hell, that's just savage brutality in all of its heartless glory. Thoughts turn to bashing my head into the wall to simply getting up, strolling outside, and wandering off aimlessly into the countryside. The problem is that I have seen Deliverance and I know what goes on out there. While sitting in this environment isn't a lot different from random pig squealing while some inbred fucker lovingly fingers a banjo, at least it is climate-controlled and raging humidity is not an issue.
This is how I will be spending each and every Tuesday and Thursday through early July. At that point, another session will begin and the same dude will teach a different educational hellride at (drumroll please, Ringo) yes, 7:30-12:00 every Tuesday and every Thursday through August.
So if you suffer from chronic happiness and/or perpetual insomnia, come on down and pay me a visit, because we can cure both of those afflictions in a jiffy. Just follow the continual stream of sociological psyschobabble and the sound of a human skull bashing against a light gray wall.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Thursday, June 15, 2006
EXCRETE!!
So after a long day, I’m sitting here watching PBS. I like to drink in performances by performers I have yet to be exposed. Sometimes I like, sometimes I don’t.
I’m not sure who this jackass is that’s on at this moment, but I find him quite annoying. He might be playing Brahms, but I have the same issue with him as I have with people like Joe Cocker and Dave Mathews. I wish I’d never SEEN them perform. Oh sure they sound fine, and have talent, bla bla bla, but I can’t stand to look at them.
This guy tonight is the same. I can listen without issue, but the expressions on his face say nothing more than “EXCRETE!! While I entertain you with my fingers, I’m filling my pants!! Smell my ass workings in the back row!! It’s Ass Production... set to music!!”
This fucker could use a shave too.
There. I said it. Play on bad boy, but damn, close the curtain and make your shite in private like. Oh, and don’t forget that shave there, Hot Rod.
[This post was Gnome approved.]
I’m not sure who this jackass is that’s on at this moment, but I find him quite annoying. He might be playing Brahms, but I have the same issue with him as I have with people like Joe Cocker and Dave Mathews. I wish I’d never SEEN them perform. Oh sure they sound fine, and have talent, bla bla bla, but I can’t stand to look at them.
This guy tonight is the same. I can listen without issue, but the expressions on his face say nothing more than “EXCRETE!! While I entertain you with my fingers, I’m filling my pants!! Smell my ass workings in the back row!! It’s Ass Production... set to music!!”
This fucker could use a shave too.
There. I said it. Play on bad boy, but damn, close the curtain and make your shite in private like. Oh, and don’t forget that shave there, Hot Rod.
EXCRETE!!
[This post was Gnome approved.]
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Virtual eGift For The Expected Little One
Oh...the changes that are in store for Effie and...uh...Mr. Effie...Inside this envelope, please find from the staff of YPS!! ...wishes for the best of luck, along with the highest amount of patience, understanding and love for your little one on the way. May you realize the uniqueness of your child upon first sight, and always recognize your own limitations and may you find the ability to remind yourself that even parents need time-outs now and then.
Also remember, that with children, sometimes the only way to go forward, is to stop and put it in park.
---The YPS!! Staff, and Gnome Entourage
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Last of the Pix from the Canada Trip
Dad intently reading a travel brochure.
Birdies in downtown Toronot.
Ancient Castle Packaging!!
The Canadian Falls from the Skylon Tower.
The pack, minus me.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Another day, another lame ass quote.
"It's days like today that I really miss the magical charisma of Spuds McKenzie."
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Captain Bloggy, Jr. of the Maid of the Mist
Here ya go Swampy, Capt. Bloggy, Jr.
I said, "Smile!" on the first one. He objected, "But Dad! I want to look like the serious captain on the first one. I'll smile on the one with the teeth."
Friday, June 09, 2006
Now HOW Can A Person
...post boring vacation detail and pictures with such a shitty net connection?
HOW can a person apologize to Effie for not being able to meet her in person, with a crappy net connection?
HOW I ask you, HOW!!??
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Shrinkage. Wrappage. Suckage.
I'm relatively sure that past rants about sucky packaging have mentioned shrink wrap. While wrestling with a blank video tape in otherwise adequate packaging, it was the shrink wrap that pissed on my glorious parade.
If shrink wrap is a necessary evil in today's society as it certainly appears to be, then a simple zip strip should be required in order to quickly and efficiently remove the shit from its plastic cocoon. For my continued disposable income, I don't think that I'm asking too much of them. Considering the lack of a lightning fast release hatch, perhaps I am making hellacious demands and I should just sit down, shut up, and get over it. However, that's not the way that we roll at YPS!!. Oh hell no. We've declared war on packaging that sucks (!!) and we're bringing in the big guns. Okay, maybe low-rent, dainty-sized weaponry like sarcastic belligerence with a dash of piss and venom.
As I struggled to open the tape, my waning manliness took a beating yet again, because I wasn't packing the obligatory pocket knife. Of course, I should also add that my manliness never reached true fruition because I have a deep hatred for NASCAR, I don't own a gun (although I do own a few Ted Nugent albums), I don't chew tobacco, and I don't drink beer. But I digress. In the surroundings at the time, I couldn't even locate scissors to use as some kind of pseudo-knife or even a key.
I'm sure that you're sitting on the edge of your seat with intense anticipation to find out just how I got into the rat bastard packaging. I'm just sure of it. Not really, but work with me. Act interested. Please.
With the complete lack of classic sharp objects, I figured that I'd have to McGuyver my way into the shit. I took a look-see around the room to see what might give me access. Rubber band...no. Workplace newsletter...definitely not. Remote control...not unless I beat the hell out of it. Paper clip...well, hell yes. Straighten out the kinky curl of the clip and it tore through the bastard wrap like MC Hammer going through his album royalties. Another frustrating minute of unwrap time and it would have indeed been Hammer Time.
In the aftermath of the struggle, it made me think about the shitpot of items in this world of ours that are shrink-wrapped for our protection and aggravation. I wonder what percentage of my lifetime has been spent trying to find the weakest fault line to break on through to the other side of the plastic bullshit phenomenon that is shrink wrap.
Not only is the shit a pain in the ass, but it's also a menace to our environment and good times like Toby Keith. Once you've freed your product, I'm guessing that you don't have the wrap steamed and pressed into near mint condition for your rapidly growing shrink wrap collection. I could very well be wrong. I'm guessing anyone that has a used shrink wrap collection probably has a used bandage collection or a display cabinet for childhood scabs. If anyone should indeed have a scab collection, I sure as shit do not want to see photos, because that would be a nasty sight to behold.
The point that seems to be missing in my incoherent bullshit is that shrink wrap sucks. It's a bitch to remove, it usually finds its way directly to a trash can, and in short, it is a prime example of packaging that sucks!!
If shrink wrap is a necessary evil in today's society as it certainly appears to be, then a simple zip strip should be required in order to quickly and efficiently remove the shit from its plastic cocoon. For my continued disposable income, I don't think that I'm asking too much of them. Considering the lack of a lightning fast release hatch, perhaps I am making hellacious demands and I should just sit down, shut up, and get over it. However, that's not the way that we roll at YPS!!. Oh hell no. We've declared war on packaging that sucks (!!) and we're bringing in the big guns. Okay, maybe low-rent, dainty-sized weaponry like sarcastic belligerence with a dash of piss and venom.
As I struggled to open the tape, my waning manliness took a beating yet again, because I wasn't packing the obligatory pocket knife. Of course, I should also add that my manliness never reached true fruition because I have a deep hatred for NASCAR, I don't own a gun (although I do own a few Ted Nugent albums), I don't chew tobacco, and I don't drink beer. But I digress. In the surroundings at the time, I couldn't even locate scissors to use as some kind of pseudo-knife or even a key.
I'm sure that you're sitting on the edge of your seat with intense anticipation to find out just how I got into the rat bastard packaging. I'm just sure of it. Not really, but work with me. Act interested. Please.
With the complete lack of classic sharp objects, I figured that I'd have to McGuyver my way into the shit. I took a look-see around the room to see what might give me access. Rubber band...no. Workplace newsletter...definitely not. Remote control...not unless I beat the hell out of it. Paper clip...well, hell yes. Straighten out the kinky curl of the clip and it tore through the bastard wrap like MC Hammer going through his album royalties. Another frustrating minute of unwrap time and it would have indeed been Hammer Time.
In the aftermath of the struggle, it made me think about the shitpot of items in this world of ours that are shrink-wrapped for our protection and aggravation. I wonder what percentage of my lifetime has been spent trying to find the weakest fault line to break on through to the other side of the plastic bullshit phenomenon that is shrink wrap.
Not only is the shit a pain in the ass, but it's also a menace to our environment and good times like Toby Keith. Once you've freed your product, I'm guessing that you don't have the wrap steamed and pressed into near mint condition for your rapidly growing shrink wrap collection. I could very well be wrong. I'm guessing anyone that has a used shrink wrap collection probably has a used bandage collection or a display cabinet for childhood scabs. If anyone should indeed have a scab collection, I sure as shit do not want to see photos, because that would be a nasty sight to behold.
The point that seems to be missing in my incoherent bullshit is that shrink wrap sucks. It's a bitch to remove, it usually finds its way directly to a trash can, and in short, it is a prime example of packaging that sucks!!
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
I gots yer quote right here.
"If it indeed requires more muscles to frown than smile, let's just say I'm having a workout."
If this tour guide does
If this tour guide does not shut the hell up... No net connection in our hotel...but damn this fudge is GOOD!
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Early Morning Slow Burn
While the Blog is away, the Bone will say something nasty. This is your vulgar morning wake-up call via the e-typer coming to you from parts unknown because said parts aren't really worthy of mention. No need to strap on your hip boots and matching snorkel, because this will have all of the depth of an Arizona rain puddle.
Let the good times roll.
Any day that I have to arrive at work at 7am is not going to be a good day. It's predestined to suck ass. I'm not wired to greet the morning with smiles and perkiness. I don't greet afternoons or evenings in that manner either. There is a 7 minute window where I peak sometime around 2:00pm and it's all downhill to and from that point. To those folks who do this early bullshit every day, you have my deepest sympathy. I have never pretended to be a morning person and being forced into it brings my natural piss and venom to the surface like the cream of the crap rising to the frothy top. But here I am and at this very moment, I am still upright with bloodshot eyes intermingling and socializing with my green optical orbs for some kind of psychotic Christmas-esque evil glare. I frown more before high noon than most folks frown all day.
Let's hear it for minor miracles.
(This is where you are supposed to throw currency--no coins, please--or baked goods in my general direction in order to reward me for these wonderful achievements)
Seeing that no money or baked goods are hitting my tattered soap box, I will continue on like I have some trace of purpose or pre-conceived intent with this crapola. Between us, I don't have the slightest clue where this is going, what I am typing, or why I am somewhat awake and semi-productive at this unholy hour. Your guess is as good as mine. In fact, your guess is most likely better than mine, because my guess is that it's another fold in the cloth that is my cursed existence.
I have no doubt that the morning folks are already writing this off as pissy whining. To that, I will say "You're right" or as the kids say "True dat." I'm just clinging to the day with a white-knuckled grip trying to hang on to the shitwagon as it rolls on and over the nay-sayers and slower moving folks. I will add that it's difficult to maintain a white-knuckled grip while simultaneously flipping a bird. It requires a level of strength and motor skills that I do not currently possess. Due to my lack of multi-tasking abilities, I will simply flip the bird and bounce along the vapor trails. Given that choice, my advice to you is to always extend the middle finger and forget the white knuckles. A white-knuckled grip isn't very photogenic and that's what it's all about, except when it's about something else.
So this concludes my morning transmission. Aren't you glad that you wasted precious time reading this bullshit?
Let the good times roll.
Any day that I have to arrive at work at 7am is not going to be a good day. It's predestined to suck ass. I'm not wired to greet the morning with smiles and perkiness. I don't greet afternoons or evenings in that manner either. There is a 7 minute window where I peak sometime around 2:00pm and it's all downhill to and from that point. To those folks who do this early bullshit every day, you have my deepest sympathy. I have never pretended to be a morning person and being forced into it brings my natural piss and venom to the surface like the cream of the crap rising to the frothy top. But here I am and at this very moment, I am still upright with bloodshot eyes intermingling and socializing with my green optical orbs for some kind of psychotic Christmas-esque evil glare. I frown more before high noon than most folks frown all day.
Let's hear it for minor miracles.
(This is where you are supposed to throw currency--no coins, please--or baked goods in my general direction in order to reward me for these wonderful achievements)
Seeing that no money or baked goods are hitting my tattered soap box, I will continue on like I have some trace of purpose or pre-conceived intent with this crapola. Between us, I don't have the slightest clue where this is going, what I am typing, or why I am somewhat awake and semi-productive at this unholy hour. Your guess is as good as mine. In fact, your guess is most likely better than mine, because my guess is that it's another fold in the cloth that is my cursed existence.
I have no doubt that the morning folks are already writing this off as pissy whining. To that, I will say "You're right" or as the kids say "True dat." I'm just clinging to the day with a white-knuckled grip trying to hang on to the shitwagon as it rolls on and over the nay-sayers and slower moving folks. I will add that it's difficult to maintain a white-knuckled grip while simultaneously flipping a bird. It requires a level of strength and motor skills that I do not currently possess. Due to my lack of multi-tasking abilities, I will simply flip the bird and bounce along the vapor trails. Given that choice, my advice to you is to always extend the middle finger and forget the white knuckles. A white-knuckled grip isn't very photogenic and that's what it's all about, except when it's about something else.
So this concludes my morning transmission. Aren't you glad that you wasted precious time reading this bullshit?
Monday, June 05, 2006
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Louisville Kentucky OOPS! It's Clarksville Indiana!!
This lovely scene visible from behind our Clarksville, IN hotel. Ain't she perty? We are right across the river from L'ville, KY.The water spray in the corner is from a sprinkler. You all have a wunnerful week. I'll try and stop in Monday night.
And here are the two sisters and the two nieces in their reflectionary form.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Hola Sr Bloggerific!! - or - Now THAT is Dedication!!
So I am at home, having lunch, and I see that I have an unread message in my Trash mailbox. I take another bite of my Creamy Parmasan Chicken and have a look. It seems there's been a mistake on the sender's part. Below is his request, and below that, how I chose to handle the situation. Hats off to hard working and devoted students. Saaaaaa-luuuuuute!!
_____________
Hi Sr. Bloggerific,
I just wanted to know if there was anything I needed to do over the summer for Spanish 5H next year. Please write back whenever you have time. Thank you and have a great summer.
(name removed)
____________________
Hola! Sr. (name removed),
Unfortunately it seems you seem to have the wrong Gmail account. I say this because A) it sounds as though you are communicating with a teacher and I am not one, and B) the only Spanish I know is "el dia de los meurtos" and I doubt that I have the correct spelling.
Sorry man. Hopefully when you do get in touch with the other Bloggerific (who has a swell last name, must be a really COOL dude) he'll give you the "all clear" for the summer and you can take it easy.
If he does give you work over the summer, tell him there's another Bloggerific out there that thinks he should give up the family name after treating a fine young student this way.
In any event, I hope my lame attempt at humor hasn't insulted you in any way and that you yourself have a great summer.
-Bloggy
_____________
Hi Sr. Bloggerific,
I just wanted to know if there was anything I needed to do over the summer for Spanish 5H next year. Please write back whenever you have time. Thank you and have a great summer.
(name removed)
____________________
Hola! Sr. (name removed),
Unfortunately it seems you seem to have the wrong Gmail account. I say this because A) it sounds as though you are communicating with a teacher and I am not one, and B) the only Spanish I know is "el dia de los meurtos" and I doubt that I have the correct spelling.
Sorry man. Hopefully when you do get in touch with the other Bloggerific (who has a swell last name, must be a really COOL dude) he'll give you the "all clear" for the summer and you can take it easy.
If he does give you work over the summer, tell him there's another Bloggerific out there that thinks he should give up the family name after treating a fine young student this way.
In any event, I hope my lame attempt at humor hasn't insulted you in any way and that you yourself have a great summer.
-Bloggy
Premonitions of Bus Ride Packaging
And the question arose: What if I don't enjoy the bus ride?(Actual disapproving ass size not shown. Wide angle lens not available at time of shoot. No asses were harmed in the making of this premonition. Void where prohibited by pants. You can collect them all.)
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