schplog

“I vish you vouldn’t

pee on my nice new vindows,”

said Tom pee-vishly.

This is kind of crazy, but this morning I went down to the plaza and watched a matador competition. It may sound implausible but I saw the plaza bull.

It gave me paws.

According to a not-so-reliable source, the following epitaph can be found on the grave of a brewer in Islington:

Poor John Scott lies buried here
Though once he was both ‘ale and stout:
Now death has drawn his bitter bier
In a better world he hops about

Fat Frankie’s foolish foot fetish forces him to be a footishist.

“Walden Pond candles;

They annoy me thoreau-ly”,

said Tom wick-edly.

It’s whack birds day! It’s whack birds day!

You’re doing it all ass-whack-birds!

I have always been pretty shy and disinclined to speak to others but lately I’ve taken a taciturn for the worse.

*In fact, so much so that I didn’t even feel obliged to turn this post into a shaggy schplog joke.

You can lead a zeppelin to water but you cannot make it sink.

You can LED a zeppelin but you cannot make it blink.

You can lead a stairway to heaven but only to the brink.

You can listen to led zeppelin but only at the skating rink.

Haiku cuckoo clock

What was Zen is zen, they say

But what about now?

I just had the most disturbing realization. Everyone I know uses the elevator differently than I do. I’m not sure exactly to do about it but I’ll definitely have to take steps.