There was a news story today the inventor of the Etch A Sketch died. Well how did he die? Some bratty kid erased him and they couldn’t redraw him.
Ma’am, would you like that cat in a box?
911, what is your emergency? There are three cats that are stalking me and acting as Peeping Toms. Ma’am, you need to call the ASPCA, not us, but a deputy is on his way. Deputy shows up at the door. Ma’am, I am gonna arrest you for filing a police report and those cats happen to be my cats. The moral of this tale is know your stalker.
Is your brain playing tricks? Why yes! Bad brain! Naughty brain! I don’t remember any of this, because my brain is outside my head. It is like being hung over. Every night, I become the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, if I only had a brain. :0 The thoughts flame, like an Icelandic geyser. The tense music from Mussoursky’s Night on Bald Mountain plays my through my head, full of traditional Slavic Gods and fairy tales. And by George, they are all outside my head. And I am rambling cause it is bloody three in the morning.