I Don't Want to Hear Stories About Dolphins or Teenagers with Cars
I was just remembering that my mother bought me a beach towel in 1984. I had to bring the beach towel to the municipal pool because I didn’t have a beach.
I would like to add that everyone I knew had her own beach towel (or towels) long before I had a beach towel of my own. This caused me pain. I’m not saying this so that you will counter with your own stories of deprivation and suffering. I don’t want to hear those stories. I want to hear stories about hobos with sinister agendas, or ghost horses that diagnose lymphoma – that sort of thing. I also like stories about old ladies who die and then come back to life in disgust because heaven didn't cover its sofa cushions with plastic.
I would like to add that everyone I knew had her own beach towel (or towels) long before I had a beach towel of my own. This caused me pain. I’m not saying this so that you will counter with your own stories of deprivation and suffering. I don’t want to hear those stories. I want to hear stories about hobos with sinister agendas, or ghost horses that diagnose lymphoma – that sort of thing. I also like stories about old ladies who die and then come back to life in disgust because heaven didn't cover its sofa cushions with plastic.
5 Comments:
I'm so glad you're back!
"it's"? "municiple"? Where's the real Esther, you illiterate troll? How dare you sully her good name with your feeble scribblings...
Or maybe it's just that your spell-check is on the blink. No worries then. I have a fantastic story about a horse who has been diagnosed with terminal hobos who spree-kills sinister old ladies. But I can't tell you how it ends yet 'cos the horse keeps dropping the knife, silly old tramp-nag. No opposable thumbs, see?
Opposable thumbs are the hall-mark of all good story-telling.
Look, shut up. Why can't you be more like ecalos? After I fix those errors, you will look silly, not me. Nobudy will know what your talking about;
Argh! My humiliation is complete. I go now to cast myself upon the serrated blade of my noble yet frustratingly ineffective serial-killer steed.
I hope to be remembered as a good man, a man who strove to leave the world a better place than he found it. Or at least a better spelt and more grammatical place, which is close enough for interweb purposes. Don't cry for me, Apostrophe...
Ah, for the welcome flutterings of the jibber-jabber, how I miss them. (but not the cats)
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