told me to clean all the guns today.
When I got up this morning I took two Ex-Lax in addition to my Prozac. I
can't get off the john, but I feel good about it.
I set half the clocks in my house ahead an hour and the other half back
an hour Saturday and spent 18 hours in some kind of space-time continuum
loop, reliving Sunday (right up until the explosion). I was able to exit
the loop only by reversing the polarity of the power source exactly
e*log(pi) clocks in the house while simultaneously rapping my dog on the
snout with a rolled up Times. Accordingly, I will be in late, or early.
My stigmata's acting up.
I can't come in to work today because I'll be stalking my previous boss,
who fired me for not showing up for work. OK? I have a rare case of
48-hour projectile leprosy, but I know we have that deadline to meet.
I am stuck in the blood pressure machine down at Wal-Mart.
Yes, I seem to have contracted some attention-deficit disorder and, hey,
how about them Skins, huh? So, I won't be able to, yes, could I help
you? No, no, I'll be sticking with Sprint, but thank you for calling.
Constipation has made me a walking time bomb.
