I’d forgotten about that song, the one up there. Up, numbnuts, up! I was listening to some mega-uber-mix disc in the rig — it’s odd but ever since I’ve had disc players with jukebox capability in my rigs, at least seven years now, every mix is at least a hundred tunes — and I heard Southside Johnny covering some Boss tune, and thought to myself “Shit, Dawg, don’t you have that one Southside album around somewhere?” I answered “Shit yourself you mad hound, yes, I don’t wanna go home” I said back “Well my head is closing, you don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here” And then I took a swing at me and missed and I laughed and I scowled.
Yes, hyphens to make a tangential parenthetical cul de sac of a rhetorical fart sack isn’t strictly according to Hoyle, but, you know, by the time someone brings out Hoyle the game is over anyhow. If you could get shot over a game of Go Fish, the guy with the Hoyle book is gonna get shot. Um, I might be a bit outdated. For them who don’t know what I’m talking about, take it easy you’re in good and plentiful company, Hoyle was a rule book for card games. They also made the traditional bicycle decks. Um, bicycle is a pattern, though, traditionally, if you’re going to put a card in your bike spokes it’s usually a bicycle.
Honestly, I don’t know how you people manage to get through your day without my help and knowledge of picayune things that used to be. Um, maybe they still are, I don’t know. I’d be the guy shooting the guy with the Hoyle book for looking up whether or not it was ok for me to say “I know you have some fucking fives you lying bitch faced harlot!” I kid. I haven’t said harlot in weeks. I think it’s in the rules that you can say “I’ll give you something to go fish about you wanton hussy!”
So the national weather board of weather nationalists, a fairly conservative group, has been blowing up my alert messages all day. First it was, “There might could be a butt-ton of snow or something wet coming Wednesday afternoonish to Thursday sometime” and then it was “Winter Warning Watch, a cheek to full buttload of wintry mix expected, Wednesday 12 pm to Thursday at 356” Now it’s all about Warning “Delicate bouquet of rain starting after dawn Wednesday turning to wet, heavy, hard to swallow snow and by seven pm on Thursday it could be up to your ass or maybe just six inches.”
I might have thrown a slush ball of hyperbole into the language but not the chronology. Right at the moment it’s the evening of a mild day full of green lawns and noisy sparrows getting their voice on for spring shenanigans and hopes of dipping their beaks in the company ink.
So, you know, if I’m not around tomorrow it’s because I’m short; my ass is closer to the ground.
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