Jack, in attempts to be helpful and out of fear that I couldn’t possibly figure out anything without aforesaid helpfulness, calls me to aid in my search for a hotel in Santa Monica and says, “Yahoo has all kinds of directories and stuff like that.” I respond, “Thanks, I’m well-versed in the internet.”
This is the same man I’ve had to instruct on the complexities of copying and pasting text . . . five times.
This morning, the shouting of Howard Stern blaring through my tiny alarm clock speaker awoke me from my dream that I was Carl McCall’s illegitimate daughter. Maybe this could explain my ghetto booty or my Pam Grier afro.
I know it’s not Spring, but I have the urge to modify, consolidate and purge everything in my apartment. In doing so, I’ve discovered an abundance of nail clippers. I have no recollection of ever having purchased one nail clipper let alone six. I certainly would have no use for the extra large sizes as seen on the right, so how did I come to own them? It’s just like that red umbrella. There must be some fairy that comes and deposits new shiny clippers in exchange for old nail clippings. Not to hurt fairy’s feelings, but I think I can garner a bundle on Ebay. Any bidders?