If you’re looking for a circus, you’ve come to the right place.
If donkeys could fly, this place would be an airport.
No ifs or ands, only butts.
And full moons.
No, full MOONS.
I said MOONS! (You just had to take it to a place of beavers…)
So, I was talking about a circus, intending this post to be one of silliness and escapism, maybe elicit a laugh or a snort, ideally to induce a roll of the eyes – and in the words of Britney Jean Spears, “Why don’t you DO SOMETHIN’!“
I know you feel this.
Even if the song is pure garbage.
Yeah, I wrote that, and it’s garbage too.
Throw it all out.
Throw it away.
But only on trash days.
The sound of a garbage truck used to be music to my ears because it used to mean Friday was at hand. Now we can’t even have that reminder. When is trash day anyway?
Whoa, Nellie, did this post take a stream-of-unconscious turn or what? (Better than a stream of urine, I suppose.)
Does anyone ever answer the ‘or what’ part? It just dangles there like a dick in boxer shorts.
I tend to prefer my junk a little closer to the body. A refusal to helicopter for the crowds is a sign that one has grown up.
This post would have you believe otherwise.
It’s Friday, or in the words of Justin Timberlake, it’s Friday, yo.
{Bonus: naked Justin Timberlake post here.}
