Saturday, May 9, 2009
Followers?
I just added the "followers" widget because I am 100% self-absorbed and want to feel popular. There has to be someone out there in the e-universe that gives a floppin' hoot about my blog. I would even be flattered if one of those Magic card playing, trench coat kids started following me. I'd even throw in some Babylon 5 references to keep his attention. Shoot, I might even post some pictures of naked dwarves. One problem with piling up followers is that I have never told anyone that I have a blog. It's my dirty little secret, well at least one of them. I also am a closet Hannah Montana fan, so there's that secret too . . . and, I'm keeping up with the Kardashians, so I have lots to hide. Maybe I'll get rid of this "followers" widget afterall.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wasn't that fun?
So, I pretty much just took law school behind the wood shed and gave it a stern talking to, and whacked it's hind quarters with a sturdy piece of plywood. Old law school was none too pleased! Howled like a tortured wolf as a matter of fact. But I just kept on paddling.
After administering sound beatings I like to sit down and write some poetry just to calm my nerves. Yes, poetry is as soothing as a double dose of valium and a tall glass of mineral water. So here goes:
Like a thousand times before I lay here waiting; waiting as an abandoned baby mountain goat on a daunting Adirondack precipice; watching the remnants of daylight eek out of sight never to return. Ma-a-a-a-a-a. How scared I have become, like the last bite of chowder or alas the only tangled weed in an otherwise perfect garden. My time has come and I must turn and face my shadow. But wait . . . where is it? Oh yes, it is behind me once again. But now I am in charge, so let's march shadow of mine. Let's march to a new future where homeless dogs are dressed in poodle skirts and yellow yarn boots. Where once dark alleys are lit with lollipop street lights and decorated with a million brilliant bells and handicrafts. Where the damp and somber streets of yesteryear are filled with festive songs and dancing children. Yes shadow, lets leave this baby goat behind and prance our way toward that enchanted place, and when we get there, I'll buy you a new goat, I promise.
After administering sound beatings I like to sit down and write some poetry just to calm my nerves. Yes, poetry is as soothing as a double dose of valium and a tall glass of mineral water. So here goes:
Like a thousand times before I lay here waiting; waiting as an abandoned baby mountain goat on a daunting Adirondack precipice; watching the remnants of daylight eek out of sight never to return. Ma-a-a-a-a-a. How scared I have become, like the last bite of chowder or alas the only tangled weed in an otherwise perfect garden. My time has come and I must turn and face my shadow. But wait . . . where is it? Oh yes, it is behind me once again. But now I am in charge, so let's march shadow of mine. Let's march to a new future where homeless dogs are dressed in poodle skirts and yellow yarn boots. Where once dark alleys are lit with lollipop street lights and decorated with a million brilliant bells and handicrafts. Where the damp and somber streets of yesteryear are filled with festive songs and dancing children. Yes shadow, lets leave this baby goat behind and prance our way toward that enchanted place, and when we get there, I'll buy you a new goat, I promise.
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