I golf like Helen Keller;
I drive like Mr. Magoo;
I made the Devil do it;
I type like Django Reinhardt;
I have Van Gogh's ear for music;
I take directions like Amelia Earhart; and
my car smokes more than Blanche duBois.
Unicorns Are Real … See that? The news media is the same the world over.
Play nice kids!
This is better than a sharp stick in the eye:
This tain't so bad neither:
This seems apropos:
Naturally, I saved the best for last:
Dad was a TOTAL handful and the 20th century Italo-American experience stitches its way through my childhood memories. We're talking: a marriage spanning six decades and as many children; seemingly boundless Neapolitan cuisine; a menagerie of pets to make Noah proud (four cats, three dogs, an endless stream of fish with surprisingly short life spans, a tadpole named Biscuit, yet another dog, four ducklings and an hermaphroditic turtle); epic Monopoly games (fun to win! fun to lose!); endless refrains of Junior Birdsman, Great Big Globs, and the Diarrhea Song; Three Stooges, A Christmas Story, and Twilight Zone marathons repetitively flickering their way through the holidays; passionate arguments over the burning issues of the day (such as whether the Pacific is a greater ocean than the Atlantic); and flamboyant gesticulations (in case you couldn't hear someone yelling over ... a l l ... t h a t ... y e l l i n g).
Although I lighted from dysfunction-junction decades ago, I'm inclined to believe the residue of that bygone era still courses through these veins.
1. attend an exorcism with the Pope;
2. share a sumptuous repast of mosquito knees and broken glass at the city dump; and/or
3. go disco dancing. (I actually did this for one woman. I STILL don't know what was I thinking, but I will NEVER forget what I was feeling.)
Peace and light on your way~