I was eating an apple and surfing the Internet at my desk when I looked down and noticed that the apple stem had a small, white sphere stuck to it with something dark inside. It looked horribly similar to what an insect would climb inside to turn into some other disgusting form of insect.
I got up and walked over to another coworker’s cubicle, where several people were standing together chatting. They examined the little pod and watched as I pulled it apart with a paper clip. The dark thing inside turned out to be some hard little lump of unidentifiable nothing, leading one woman to say, “You’ll be fine. It’s probably just some part of nature.”
Yuck. So is the Ebola virus, but that doesn’t mean I want to eat it.
I read post title and immediately thought this was going to be about Tackeblerry. Stay down, Eugene.
These set-ups are so easy folks are gonna start thinking this is some Black Sox scandal.
I’ve so much material on this one (it’s just seeping with subtext and innuendo, innuendo and subtext), but the bell tolls for thee. Time to convene at local mixing spot for mindless chit-chat and subtle bargaining…like the employment of timeless pitch “Hey, lets go watch a movie back at my place…”, even if premise is a silly one at 1:37 in the am.
For you bridge and tunnelers, it means getting to local TGI Fridays before the happy hour specials expire.
*flashes The Dirt Field gang sign*
You’re a weird guy, Lance…a weeeeeird guy.
At least you’re entertaining 🙂
Where you from, anyway?
*return flashes The Dirt Field gang sign*
Blue Gnu,
I’m a sitty(sic) dweller, tried-and-true. This doesn’t mean Clarendon, Bethesda or Silver Spring, ladies…*rolls eyes*. But please, don’t sully my reputation with presumptions of hipster contingency. You know, throw-back bikes outfitted with chopped (crotch?) handlebars espousing the bad-assery of bike polo (likely undertaken whilst coming down from meth trip) and/or the poseur tweed ridin’ scene (nadir). Me and my kind loathe the affiliation…even if we tolerate a few of those degenerates within our ranks.
All of that said, I’m not above, like many of my pedalin’ brothers, Chris Hornering someone home if duty so calls. Ah, city romance.
There. Your turn.
I have absolutely no idea what anything you just said means.
No shit.
Hey, lets hear about your crazy days closing chicks in the supply closet at work again, ET (pretend I wrote something funny/disparaging about phoning home here). That was zany stuff!!!
In the meantime, I offer the following to help part the clouds:
http://www.velonews.com/files/images/horner.jpg