Im Morgen, Das Wetter ist Besser.
This morning’s highlights:
1. This morning, a cloudy figure of a man was looming just outside of Ryan Knapp’s car window and beginning to wave its arms. “Sir, the self-service pumps are around the corner on the other side of the building.” He said, rather like a talking pocket protector.
Ryan, probably half-irritated and half embarrassed, sighed, turned his car back on and repositioned himself at the appropriate gas pump. “What the *heck,*man, I didn’t even know they still had full-service gas pumps.” Then Ryan yawned and flicked his head a little to the side, trying to rebuke a few non-compliant strands of hair which, until then, were spilling down his forehead rather like a Revlon bleach-blond waterfall, splashing into the cool blue of his morning eyes. He yawned again. “Full service pumps… It seems like something in the 50’s… or in like Oregon or something.”
2. Later while I was walking onto the Seattle/Bainbridge Ferry, I saw two peculiar things:
- First sighting: A guy waddle-jogging off the ferry, who, mid-waddle-jog, was frantically reading Rick Warren’s “The Purpose Driven Life.”
- Second sighting: Then, as if that weren’t enough to thoroughly stain my morning, there was this guy directly in front of me, bouncing up-and-down in similar waddle-jog fashion, and --again, mid-waddle-jog-- I spied this inscription on the back of his shirt: “WELCOME TO GIZZARD CITY, MICHIGAN *-WHAT HAPPENS IN GIZZARD CITY… STAYS IN GIZZARD CITY!”*
*Author's Note:*
*1. He may have said the h-e-double toothpick word, I don't fully remember. (or even H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICK, ITS ALL-CAPS-COUSIN)
*2. The philosopher in me couldn’t help but think, “Well… Sir, if that were true, then, of course, neither you nor your Gizzard-City-purchased shirt should even be here, being of course that we, as far as I can perceive, are not in Gizzard City, Michigan.”
1. This morning, a cloudy figure of a man was looming just outside of Ryan Knapp’s car window and beginning to wave its arms. “Sir, the self-service pumps are around the corner on the other side of the building.” He said, rather like a talking pocket protector.
Ryan, probably half-irritated and half embarrassed, sighed, turned his car back on and repositioned himself at the appropriate gas pump. “What the *heck,*man, I didn’t even know they still had full-service gas pumps.” Then Ryan yawned and flicked his head a little to the side, trying to rebuke a few non-compliant strands of hair which, until then, were spilling down his forehead rather like a Revlon bleach-blond waterfall, splashing into the cool blue of his morning eyes. He yawned again. “Full service pumps… It seems like something in the 50’s… or in like Oregon or something.”
2. Later while I was walking onto the Seattle/Bainbridge Ferry, I saw two peculiar things:
- First sighting: A guy waddle-jogging off the ferry, who, mid-waddle-jog, was frantically reading Rick Warren’s “The Purpose Driven Life.”
- Second sighting: Then, as if that weren’t enough to thoroughly stain my morning, there was this guy directly in front of me, bouncing up-and-down in similar waddle-jog fashion, and --again, mid-waddle-jog-- I spied this inscription on the back of his shirt: “WELCOME TO GIZZARD CITY, MICHIGAN *-WHAT HAPPENS IN GIZZARD CITY… STAYS IN GIZZARD CITY!”*
*Author's Note:*
*1. He may have said the h-e-double toothpick word, I don't fully remember. (or even H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICK, ITS ALL-CAPS-COUSIN)
*2. The philosopher in me couldn’t help but think, “Well… Sir, if that were true, then, of course, neither you nor your Gizzard-City-purchased shirt should even be here, being of course that we, as far as I can perceive, are not in Gizzard City, Michigan.”