In my first postion as a social worker (and bored) i wrote an InnerOfficeMemo to the director "Due to a lack of adequate refrigeration I was canceling the testicle doner program because they were rotting in my lower left desk drawer causing significant odiferous contamination of the workplace environment" The director did not respond to my memo!
letting out an SBD in a crowd of people and keeping a straight face while watching others react still kills me.
heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee . . .
Ah, yer a bad bear, so . . .
Everything I do is pretty silly methinks, specially breaking out in hokey kokey in the middle of meetings
Mud. Waaay back in '93 if I remember correctly. Walking across a boggy field with a friend, the wet grass got mushy. But it looked pretty clear, a few bushes and long grass up ahead.
The mushy got muddy. Well, good thing we got our hiking boots on!
Then it got deeper. I hoped the boots were waterproof.
The deeper got pretty deep. We stopped, looked back, looked forward.
Our entire boots are already covered in mud, laces and everything. Can't really save them now.
The deep became gloop. Hey, our socks were long past dirty, so no big deal.
The gloop became a swamp. Up to our knees, hard to pull our legs out. One of my boots got sucked off and had to dig around to find it.
The swamp became a slough. Okay fine, we'll just have to change our pants when we get home too. At least it doesn't smell, not bad anyways. It's just mud, that's all.
The slough became a bog. Holding my pants up, pull one leg up, heave it over, set it back down, shift weight, sink in, pause, then start the other leg. Hey, it's fine. It's alright, really. We could still move.
The bog became ... okay, to make a short story long: By the time we got across the marsh we were giggling and laughing and making froggy noises, flopping through mud up to our necks.
We could have taken the path around, but sometimes the direct route is just ... mud!
Mud, glorious mud!
I love the sound it makes when you pull your boots/shoes/feet out of good mud.
I'll get down on the ground and play with any dog whose people will let me.
This woman walked up to me and the gf the other day at the dog run, said hi all friendly-like. I just looked at her blankly. Who the hell was this person?
Then her big slobbery rottweiller came up. Oh, it's Parsley... I played with him at the Tin Hat a few weeks ago. He forced himself through the narrow bars of the patio to come say hi to me. Yeah, I know Parsley.
Still couldn't tell you what this chick looked like, though.