This morning I left my house at 7:29:31, which is significant in that yesterday I left my house at 7:28:02 and caught the bus forty-five seconds after arriving at the stop. i.e. when I was leaving my house this morning I was destined to miss the bus by forty-six seconds. So, I walked as fast as I could through the snow, wearing size 120,000 DDD ogre-bearing boots. I walked so fast that I had to wait at the bus stop for minutes, literally minutes, and was convinced that I had still missed it. During this time I had this conversation with myself. One is a lower Appalachian accent, Two is a higher, almost girlish, Appalachian accent.
One: Ah walked so hard, Ah walked like a bloodhound.
One: Ah walked so hard, Ah thought my feets was gonna’ fall off.
Two: You’re a bloodhound!
When the bus finally did arrive, after minutes, literally minutes of waiting, I realized that I had walked so fast time had stopped. This is the only way to explain being so early for the bus after leaving the house so late. I’ve done some calculations and come to the conclusion that between the second and fourth blocks of my walk I was travelling at 1.87 times the speed of light.
Last night I was having a Burger Feast with my brother and The The came on the stereo at the Burger Store. When was the last time you heard The The in a public place? If your answer was either “never” or “Feb. 2, 1990,” you are correct.
Last night I watched the Tracy Morgan Show. I like shows about black families because the parents always make fun of the kids to the point of crippling psychological and emotional abuse. My guess is that there is a fair amount of crippling psychological and emotional abuse involved in real life when you are raised by Tracy Morgan, Bernie Mack, or Bill Cosby. They’re always like, “Hey son, I’m going to use this in my new act, here check this: My son is so fucking stupid and ugly, he couldn’t get a date to the prom and then had to lie about it to his friends claiming he was sick. What do you think? See how it’s funny, because art is all imitatin’ life n’ shit. Because you couldn’t get a date to the prom, right! RIGHT!?! And you wasn’t sick, was you, B!?!”
Finally, in a Patty Potty Patrol update, this morning she unleashed a whole new offensive strategy. She was not sitting at her desk when I came in to work, but had rather taken up a chair in the office common area where she had a perfect view of both the men’s bathroom door, AND the door to the stairwell by which I can usually make my way in private to the downstairs bathroom when I need to avoid her ever-watchful evil-eye-of-Sauron gaze. She is a genius. I will kill her before the rising of the new moon!