TheClownCarTragedy

I was also electrocuted as a toddler. It's one of my first memories, crawling toward a nightlight that was shaped like a blue guardian angel. My dad was a Baptist minister, so you can imagine the rich well of symbolic moss I let carpet that particular memory. Then, when I heard "Birdhouse in Your Soul" by They Might Be Giants? Boy howdy, twenty-three skidoo, oh you kid! I felt so special! And now that I know you shared a similar experience, I feel so close to you now. Don't take that the wrong way. I'm not a stalker. Just lonely and easily wooed.

So close on the Quebeckery! My favorite winter wear are heavy-weight wool cardigans with leather elbow patches -- proffessor-esque for sure -- but mainly because they slouch off my shoulders in this very lassez-faire way, and I'm probably not even using or spelling that right. I do hate baseball (unless I'm watching it on fast forward to a Benny Hill CD), and I've been told I'm a horrible dancer. Apparently I dance the way a duck swims: a top half that barely moves and a bottom half that is frenetic madness. I tried it the other way around once and woke up in a hospital.

Books! Yes! Sometimes feels like I'm one of the last ones to still read. I've had my dalliances with DFW and Vonnegut, but I'm no disciple. DFW's genius is like the Grand Canyon: gorgeous but inaccessible, and daring anyone to dive in alive. Vonnegut is...like some other kind of canyon. A funnier kind. The Cumberland Gap?

But yes. I have secret crushes on everyone I meet. If I didn't, I'd hate the world and embrace pure villainy. At which point my favorite album would become The Mollusk. Unless I was recovering from food poisoning. That album sounds like food poisoning, but in the best way possible. No?
 

I don't check the "social side" of Earwolf very much, I just put on my flame-resistant jump suit, fake neck tattoo and real face tattoo and go to work at the comedy truck stop,  just straight pumping out those catchphrases like the solar system's least expensive and 2nd least bought gasoline (fucking Shell station on the Moon still holding that ignominious title, those lunards*) without any shoes or ability to censor/edit myself stopping me from stepping on sharp rocks and kicking small children causing me to get off the Earwolf site quickly to avoid leaving a bloody trail of sharp rocks and Play Stations to my hidden lair once I'm done exhausting my gas supply. Waiting on you to finish fence. Which is a metaphor and a sign I'm up too late again. MetaphorBot2000 is here to break down what was said and also break down since it's a 2000 version, which everyone knows blows like a bowl made of coals who wants their tongue to get dirty, bird. Or should I say dirty QWERTY since my keyboard needs cleaning 

Where was I?

*Luna + Nerds = lunards X explaining a joke = aways a good sign the funny is lurking in spades. Which is what he wanted to hear, he hasn't had funny lurking anywhere near him, much less in him, since the 2nd season of Just Shoot Me (wild guess, don't care enough about him or facts** to research the topic any further). 

**Unless it's Hollywood Facts, take out yo diiiiick. 

I don't check the social side of anything anymore. Unless you count the social BACKside! [tinny laughter]

I need MetaphorBot2000'zes's help because, buried deep in your poetical punnery and meditations on child abuse, it seemed as if you said you were waiting for me to "finish fence." I don't fence-fence anymore ever since I slipped on my lunch and blinded my fencing instructor, who really shouldn't have been eating my lunch anyway. The fence around my home is more of a third-story balcony, and I'm pretty sure it's all done. I even leaned on the railing today and rolled up and down the length of it, putting my full weight on it, just to make sure it was structurally sound.

You had to explain the word. Anything that ends in "ard" is now automatically suspect. That's why I changed my favorite Star Fleet captain to Kirk. You can never be too careful.

**Check out the facts, it's the Hollywood facts.