Do I look happy?
Do I look happy?
A group of large men named after gold rush prospectors had a shoving match with a group of large men named in what I assume is a vaguely condescending and culturally insensitive way to Native Americans. These large men get paid more than many people will earn in their lifetimes to play a game with a ball. Advertisements costing more than the GDP of some small countries attempt to sell things to the fans, who already spent most of their money on a big TV to watch this game. More people watched the game than voted in the last presidential election. (I don’t know that for sure, but it wouldn’t surprise me). People who don’t even watch football the rest of the year watch this game, sort of like people who only go to church on Christmas. And after all that, a president, elected by a minority of voters, proved he didn’t know which state a major city in the country he runs is even located in.
Do I have that right?
No, it isn’t.
That is a peppercorn tree. I am doing more of those funny pictures where I take a photo of the moon through a hole in tree foliage, and then use Photoshop to mirror image the photo.
I like trying to see what kind of face I can make.
I take these at work with my phone while I am doing my security patrols.
It keeps me busy.
I never know how good they will turn out until I start figuring out what part to use for the mirror imaging.
Still no appetite for thy heinous concoction doth my tongue construe to desire.
Neither hither nor yon would’st such tinted and perhaps tainted fare present itself less foully to my palate.
I dislike the notion of consuming such victuals even within mine own dwelling, whereas being attended by a rodent during the course of such a repast seems ill-bethought.
Likewise did the fox seem poorly put upon when I did but seek to inquire if he would care to join me in a supper of such surpassingly unusual colour. And as for my retiring to the confinement of a box of suitable size to permit, whilst I did find the quietude fortuitous to composing verse, methinks it did but little to render my dislike of the plate placed before me into a true liking.
Forsooth, I am far beyond the age where dining on a tree branch seems practicable.
I knoweth not of this ‘train’ of which thou spake, but I doth contend that verily, no such conveyance of the future would do more to commend such a dastardly meal to mine stomach than any of thine other recommendations, and as for supping in inclement weather, would’st thou indeed have me catch my death of consumption in such a manner?
Nor would’st consuming them upon the oaken deck of yon sturdy boat enhance the virtues of said ghastly repast. And whilst questioning thy advice to devour them in the presence of a barnyard animal, their taste would be to me no more appealing were said goat well nigh at hand.
In short, my good Sir Samuel, I still but belikest me little of thy offering of eggs and ham the colour of foliage. Nor does the prospect of swallowing any foodstuffs that do take on such hues as might be seen amongst the hills and vales of Ireland suite my fancy. Green, I bethink me, ’tis a far more becoming colour than it is a flavour.
Therefore I sadly restate my refusal to partake of thee thy kindly rendered invitation to sup with thee on this particular dish.
Though I take thee at thy word that the verdant overtones of this repast is due not to rot nor rancidness, still do I pray of thee, tempt me not further upon this course. I liketh me not this breaking of my fast with eggs and ham whose visage is thus despoiled.
your obedient servant, W. Shakespeare.
year of our Lord, 1602
Especially if you are a slightly techno-phobic computer moron.
My dogs don’t care if it is my day off, I haven’t showered, and I have crazy nap hair.
They are going to get petted, one way or the other.
If I want to watch tv, I have to put them to sleep… with love.