In the beginning, there was…
- Oh please don’t leave, you haven’t even tried the fish balls yet.
- She’s switched the baby aspirin for LSD
- Paisley
- Blaine the supersonic train.
- Have you met Lydia the tattooed lady? No – have you met my left fist?
- Ha Ha – I just had to find the right hole.
- Your absinthe is on the shelf here, do you want another diet coke, or are you right?
- Trekkies, Trekker, Trek, Fan is short for Fanatic.
- Crapped on families.
- Farmer direct. You could Win.
- You’re essentially a psychopath.
Really? Oh well, as something was bound to be said, surely it was bound to be bacon salt? I wonder if Tequila with bacon salt would be a nice combination? Alas we don’t have access to any down here in the land of the Wizard, but maybe one day soon? Absinthe with diet coke on the other hand is rather good. The greens are greener, though I can’t possibly eat any more spinach and ricotta pi, as 3.14159265 slices per day over the last 7 days have tested even my resolve of eating all the leftovers. Still, one does ones best, and then starts wondering why on earth the Comfy Chair was not expected as part of the Spanish inquisition? Hmn, needs must one go and see what the pixies in the bottom of the mushroom bag have to say about that.
Apparently it all had something to do with the Vogons inheriting the earth on account of no one else having paid the relevant stamp duties or rates, and therefore forfeiting their land claims. But as reality is only virtual, and circuits need to be tuned up prior to pupating to another dimension, then its quite alimentary that god did in fact reappear in a puff of logic after the zebra became cross, just to do a little “I told you so” dance Grace’s mum’s style. Of course should that make sense then the writer suspects that the reader is either kidding themself, or has possibly entered a mental state similar to that obtained from drinking a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, and should therefore find the comfort of a slice of lemon wrapped in a brick prior to proceeding with any operating of heavy machinery.
In conclusion we conclude nothing and thank everyone for everything that is worth being thankful for.
Please be kind to random strangers, think good thoughts about people you hate, and generally infuse some love peace and harmony into this fracked up zeitgeist that is causing our hair to go curly and strangers to try and extinguish each others’ lives in new and interesting ways. Failing that, go club something cute and furry, or go clubbing with something cute and furry. Whatever your conscience will allow while making you happy, preferably without infringing on the freedom of others at the same infinitesimal slice of infinity. Too preachy? Then you may bite me. Gently. No bruising. No tickling.
… the end of the next beginning.
