1/7/09

Room service, the sequel

Two questions: Where is the Poodle sleeping that night? And is this really the proper reception for a guy who was greeted with "Shyme! Shyme!" everywhere we went in Australia as Iraq was being invaded?  

Not fud, just necessary

He did not keep us safe from 9/11. 

I hope there's a whole chapter

in the memoir on how bad taste just cannot be cured. Could they really not have left the choice to the new residents? The legacy mounts . . . 

My ears hurt

already -- the voice was bad enough; the strained copy will be so much more grating. 

Why can't he just pack up

his pretzels and go home already? (Oh, the fud? Room service.) 

Play-for-No-Pay

will print any old horse shit. Do as he says, not as he weighs. 

Squirrel

you say? 

And to think

we could have wound up with the Budweiser sugar baby.

(Thanks to Anima Mundi.)