One of us has had way too much coffee and it's you
I'm just saying that not to hurt your feelings but to protect you. From yourself.
Plus you shouldn't brag so much about your new black car. It's making everyone livid. We're all talking about how smug you look pipping about as if you were the only one to ever have a new black car. (You sure are NOT the only one).
If you find it keyed don't come crying to me, please. If you find the keyed phrase to read Your a Looser!!@! then don't come crying to me about vandals and grammar, please.
Another thing is at what point in history did sugar become an explosive? Is this something we have to worry about from the al Queidas? Blowing us up with lolly pops and gum drops? Is there science to support the idea of explosive sugar dust? Is there a magic spell someone can cast which will reveal the science of the explosive dust?
I was watching the news and there it was. That sugar blew up a bunch of people (but they were only factory workers so don't worry) and I'll be honest with you, I tossed out my sugar. Both the regular granular and also the powdered. I was going to throw out the raw sugar but then I remembered that I'm not a hippie liberal who's afraid that the government is trying to poison me with bleached sugar. I want the pretty white sugar. The unexplosive kind, as well, if that can be arranged. (I also tossed my wife's Splenda, please don't tell her).
Another thing is that there were a lot of posts in the message boards about why the devil wants my poops in hell and I admit I did a bad job, yesterday on that one. I'll be the first one to admit that because it's true. I've grafted monkey paws on my hands in lieu of the hooks and that has made a fine mess of things. I also got a lot of text messages and emails on the innernet asking about the same question so I guess I want to clear the air between us.
The thing that most people don't understand about hell is that they use my poop there as currency. Not exclusively but the market value for the poops is like a fifty dollar bill or back when Canadian dollar jokes were good...about a hundred loonies. And when I said the devil (with his rich brown hands and cracked and dirty nails (the devil don't clip his nails)) grabs the poops I didn't mean to say it was the actual devil because he needs no currency in hell. He's a sort of Fidel Castro. He wants a cigar? He gets a cigar.
Anyway, it was a sort of demon, perhaps. To be honest I'm not sure, all I see are the fingers pulling them down.
Some of the demons carry some of the poops around in giant metal bowls and silver hip flasks and some of the dumber ones cram the formed currency and fill their fancy pockets, and when they go to pay, (every time they do this!!) they look sheepish and hand out the dull wads as best they can and I'll tell you I'm sorry for them.
The demons wear pants in hell to hold their money.
That's what most people don't understand.
The posh demons carry the currency around in the cigar cases from the old movies and when they pay they lightly tap them out and offer them as one would a cigarette to an elegant woman.
But someone said they liked my hair, today. I think she really did like it, too and I said the same thing back. I like your hair, too, I said. And I made eye contact which is something I don't usually do because that's when lust starts.
But I didn't really mean what I said. About her hair and all. Her hair was tattered and wan. She had split ends but I wanted to say something nice back (and saying your hair is nice but for the split ends isn't nice) and I guess that's a sin what I done because it's a lie.
I will use that lie as my confession tonight because I don't want to tell the young man about the devil in my toilet for he won't understand.
He'll want to bring in a Damian Carras to get rid of it and then where will I take the massives? Left with the heavenly toilet? Will he pump the heavenly toilet?
He will not.
Does the day go on forever?