I passed gas on the bus to work this morning.
Dear God, I wanted to run away screaming but all I could do was close my eyes and turn up my mp3 player. And wouldn't you know it, my nose started itching like a sonofabitch. So there I am, not trying to give any Freudian signals and I'm already feeling a bit panicked because I'm holding my breath. And suddenly, I realize that I've had too much coffee. So I had to do the pee-pee dance in my mind while holding my breath and getting all teary-eyed because my nose itched and I didn't want to subliminally admit the encircling pungent odor even existed…
Friday, February 25, 2005
Trapped In Hell
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About Me, Not You
- The Chief
- I was christened Wannahockaloogy by our tribal leader. He was a bitter old man with throat cancer who believed that, to truly hock a loogie, one must not retrieve the phlegm from the throat, but from the soul. His weakened, delirious state made it easy for me to overthrow him and seize control. Now, I am the chief and I have internet access. Beware, delirious smoking populace. Beware.
2 comments:
Don't you have a car? Where do you live, some hick state?
You are the reason public transportation has such a bad reputation.
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