OMGWTFBBQALPACA!
It has been pointed out to me that I am falling down in my job as reporter of the weirdness that is my life. And so I bring you...
The Story of the Llama, or, How Seanan Got To Use 'OMGWTFBBQALPACA' In Context For Possibly The Only Time Ever.
I work in San Francisco, which is a) a large city, and b) full of people who really don't seem to know how to drive all that well. They get lost a lot, and wind up driving slowly up and down the streets, trying to figure out where the heck they're going. So it was with this one guy, who was transporting his llama to Marin in a horse-trailer (which I have persisted in referring to as 'the llama-carry-box-thing', because I am a blonde who greatly loves abusing the English language). He wound up driving up and down the street in front of my office, trying to determine how to reach the bridge.
Llamas are smart. Llamas bore easily. Llamas have very flexible tongues. The llama? Got bored, got smart, and used its tongue to open the llama-carry-box-thing, stepping calmly out into the middle of the street while the driver was stopped at a light. It then proceeded to calmly llama all up and down the street, which did some fascinating things to traffic.
Llama llama llama.
I came out to head for lunch, and there, bang, was a llama. I stopped. I stared. I took great and morbid glee in exclaiming, "Oh my GOD, what the FUCK, barbeQUE, ALPACA!"
It's not an alpaca, it's a llama, said the harried llama-herder, as the llama ignored his efforts to get it back into the big metal box.
Glee.
I hung out with the llama for a while in the Wells Fargo parking lot; it politely refrained from eating my hair, although it eyed me speculatively for a while. The llama's owner ran to Safeway while I, and several others, llama-sat, and lured the llama back into the box with apples. Then he padlocked the box and drove away.
Llamas rule.
Llama.
The Story of the Llama, or, How Seanan Got To Use 'OMGWTFBBQALPACA' In Context For Possibly The Only Time Ever.
I work in San Francisco, which is a) a large city, and b) full of people who really don't seem to know how to drive all that well. They get lost a lot, and wind up driving slowly up and down the streets, trying to figure out where the heck they're going. So it was with this one guy, who was transporting his llama to Marin in a horse-trailer (which I have persisted in referring to as 'the llama-carry-box-thing', because I am a blonde who greatly loves abusing the English language). He wound up driving up and down the street in front of my office, trying to determine how to reach the bridge.
Llamas are smart. Llamas bore easily. Llamas have very flexible tongues. The llama? Got bored, got smart, and used its tongue to open the llama-carry-box-thing, stepping calmly out into the middle of the street while the driver was stopped at a light. It then proceeded to calmly llama all up and down the street, which did some fascinating things to traffic.
Llama llama llama.
I came out to head for lunch, and there, bang, was a llama. I stopped. I stared. I took great and morbid glee in exclaiming, "Oh my GOD, what the FUCK, barbeQUE, ALPACA!"
It's not an alpaca, it's a llama, said the harried llama-herder, as the llama ignored his efforts to get it back into the big metal box.
Glee.
I hung out with the llama for a while in the Wells Fargo parking lot; it politely refrained from eating my hair, although it eyed me speculatively for a while. The llama's owner ran to Safeway while I, and several others, llama-sat, and lured the llama back into the box with apples. Then he padlocked the box and drove away.
Llamas rule.
Llama.