Where the memory goes in Adjunct to 8/9/2013 flash friday; a trinity of flashs

My memory has been playing tricks on me. It’s the safe bet because I can’t possibly have all those quarters behind my ear, a queen of hearts in my jacket pocket (That’s my card!) and a rabbit up my ass. A few dimes maybe, an ace up my sleeve, and I swear I don’t even know that rabbit and in rabbit language ass and hat are similar twitchs.

What does any of that have to do with the price of an espresso in Rome? I’m going to end this entry with a song that I might’ve posted here before and given that here hasn’t been here all too damn long, well, memory, change, cards, bunnies (that’s Miss Fluffy to you).

I think it’s a catchy song. That’s just my opinion you don’t have to agree. Of course if you don’t it might be because the song is about you. Hey, I’m just the messenger, I don’t make the news. You should hear some of the songs the Violent Femmes wrote about you.

I could double check my memory by flipping through this train wreck of a journal. On a related but different incident I tried that earlier, flipping through the marginal record for memory juice; No go, nada, zip, no yo lo tengo ( which either means I don’t have it or I’ve never seen that bunny before in my life, tell ‘em Miss Fluffy).

I know, I often type ‘looking it up is like cheating’, which, I believe, is true, but there is, somewhere high up in the rafters, the notion that looking it up proves fruitless and that, kids, is a major food group. Fruition doesn’t count. Ask the dog under the table; a meal coming to fruition doesn’t mean it went into the belly of the kid, just that it’s ending. Seriously, where do your Brussel sprouts go? I know, Brussel sprouts aren’t technically a fruit, but, let’s face it, you stopped reading this after the bunny, went straight to the song and thought ‘Have many times is that loopy dawg gonna post this crap?’ As many times as it takes my friend.