Clareified

Dug myself out of my own bad mood!

You’re welcome!

Pray for Tom Brady and a victory for New England on Sunday.
Also, snow. Pray for lots of snow in Foxboro on Sunday. Kay, thanks.
Also, who’s sending me up to Foxboro so I can boo Joey Porter to his face?

I have not slept in 34 hours. Okay, well, I’m fairly sure I’ve nodded off once or twice or fifteen times in the past eight hours, but you know what I mean. So, just in case, I am swearing all of you to a solemn oath. If I should die of some lame ass “exhaustion/insomnia” combination, I insist that you make sure (could not decide whether that would be insure or ensure…sign of advanced brain damage????) the official record says that I died for my country.
Or fighting terrorism.
Or saving babies from a fire.
Please and thank you.

African marathoner “not real American” according to CNBC doofo.

The other day I was thinking about what a funny kid I was. Not ha ha funny, though I was definitely ha ha funny, no one told a better “there was a Jewish guy, an Asian guy and a black guy” joke.
But like weird funny…like ten minutes after finding out the camp activity of the day would be “trust falls,” I decided to throw a tantrum, at the end of which I called all the other kids and our unit leaders “scumbags,” and got detention for a week.
Yeah, sitting in an office for five days filing papers was boring, but it sure as hell beat falling backwards into a mob of strangers for fifteen seconds.
Know what I mean?
Well, anyway, as you can imagine, I was kinda flagged as a problem child, even though… dude, people who make children endanger their lives with “trust falling” are CLEARLY the ones with the problem. So one of the counselors thought assigning me an essay about the following poem would further punish me for calling my classmates names and show me the importance of “teamwork” or some such nonsense.
Ha!
Shows what he knew, I loved writing essays!
I loved poems!
He might as well have thrown in a nap and an ice cream sundae with extra caramel.
Sucker.
I don’t remember exactly what I wrote then, but it was certainly designed more to satisfy “what they wanted to hear,” than what I actually believed. Maybe I said something about how the poem is about how we’re all connected, if even just one sod gets washed away, the whole continent of Europe is lessened; if even one member of the unit doesn’t close her eyes and fall into a mosh pit of preteen arms, then…um…something something. I was definitely praised and it was assumed I’d learned a valuable lesson. But the truth is, all respect to Mr. Donne, every man is an island. People who need people are weak and well, will either toughen up or die miserable.
Yeah, friends and family are nice. If you get them, good for you. That’s awesome. But they likely won’t last. Everybody dies. Or leaves. Or just plain become mean sucky non comment leaving stupidheads.
And frankly, my island is getting some enriched yellow cake and there are definitely a bunch of freaking islands that are so getting hit. And when the bell tolls for them, I will dance. Cause it’ll be tolling for them, not for me.
Eh, maybe I’m just having one of those years.
Or lives.
And what the hell is a promontory?
Sigh.

For Whom The Bell Tolls
by John Donne

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

You guys are awesome! Hope to be in your neck of the woods soon…woodchuck’s on me! Mwah!

P.S. How are you guys in your mid thirties when I’m still 29?

With a day of death? Hmm. She scary.

And no, this is NOT me.

“It’s a masturbation song. I’ve never read all the words, but that’s what it’s about.” -Alceste