Spitters are quitters.

I need to pee. Which, as opening lines go, probably won’t be counted among the greatest of all time. I was going to go with ‘Call me Ishmael…’, but apparently thats been taken.

Screen Shot 2018-08-18 at 19.55.00.png

… and while not a white whale of mythical proportions and foul temperament… It is a whale* snapped mid breach, with an iPhone, while a little inebriated. Which has to count for something (in my opinion).

*Southern Right Whale

In any event. I was just about to launch into a self-involved tirade about my day… heap some scorn upon those who vexed me… maybe break out some self pity, while seeming just sad (but not pathetic) enough to evoke some concerned comments…. you know normal blog stuff.

But now my bladder has laid waste to all these machinations and I am forced to tack against the wind. I use a sailing metaphor. And likely use it incorrectly. But since we are channelling Captain Ahab … and since this is my blog… I can decide to use an obtuse nonsensical analogy, as is my right, as granted to me by Matt Mullenweg and the power of Greyskull. Slash WordPress.

*Joey bounces off to go use the facilities*

Is it satire or sarcasm that’s the lowest form of wit? I can’t remember…

I’m guessing sarcasm, but don’t they broadly mean the same thing? I feel I should probably know this. I have huge gaps in my tuition. (Most likely caused by brain damage)

My eighth grade English teacher, a diminutive (but violent) nun called Sister Mary-Joseph, used to punch me because I couldn’t identify clauses in a sentence… or the conjunction that joined them (still can’t). Likely a motivational technique that would be frowned upon in modern climes.

Under duress I would randomly point to non specific part of the sentence in the hope that I had guessed correctly and that I could sit back down. Unfortunately for me Sister Mary-Joseph recognized my duplicity and negatively reinforced me accordingly (with her fists).

This is my clergy abuse story. Fortunately I didn’t have go down on anyone…  or shallow a warm, viscous load of the ‘Holy Spirit’. So pretty mild really.

For the most part I think I turned out okay…

*someone in the peanut gallery starts laughing*

Except for knowing anything technical about the English language I mean.

5 thoughts on “Spitters are quitters.

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