FATTY INNER THIGHS

Neither of the two bathrooms at work have a heater, so in a way I can understand the hesitancy of some of those demented crotchets to take care of business in a timely manner. Fortunately there were only two of them left at closing time. The others had very likely gone home to do the necessaries. Their wives probably hate me. Years of haranguing all of them mercilessly about their swollen prostates, lazy bladders, and narrow urethras may finally be starting to pay off.

John and Jeff are the worst. The first one mentioned puts it off till the last possible moment, the second takes the better part of ten minutes. There are times when I am less than saintly in my intolerance.

The Dutchman does not take kindly to slow piddlers.
Senile rightwing old piddlers.


This will probably be mentioned in my next angry letter to the editor, none of which ever get sent, as well as the demand that the weather make up its damned mind, because fifty degrees Fahrenheit is quite outrageous. Especially when March was too warm.


This morning, when at shortly past quarter to five I stumbled into the teevee room with my coffee, I discovered that a small entity was prepared. "Where", he wished to know, were the fatty inner thighs? He insists that I had promised him all the fatty inner thighs he could eat when I adopted him. And he was prepared to hold some of my possessions (two tins of GLPease tobacco AND my wallet) hostage until I fullfilled his dietary demands.

He thinks it's a reasonable request. I think he's out of his little feathered head if he thinks I'm going to knock somebody, even a demented crotchet, over the head and then let them bleed out, as harvesting their wobbly wrinkled saggy upper legs would inevitably mean.
Yeah, um, sorry dude, that so ain't gonna happen.

Other than that, I'm better with animals than many humans.
Some turkey vultures just aren't reasonable.


My friend the bookseller deals with a more rational demographic. And he is fortunate that the musical kabbalist seems to have largely faded; if I ever see that fellow again, I shall have to share my latest tuneful discovery, that being a ballad that Rowlf on the Muppet Show acclaims as an all-time hit.

Please sing along with me, as we enjoy this ever-popular classic:
"You and I and George went strolling through the park one day, and then you held my hand as if to say, I love you! Then we passed a brook, and George, fell in and drowned himself and floated out to sea, leaving you alone with me....."
Truly one of the great songs of our time.

It's soulful. And stuck in my ear.
Imagine karaoke.



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