THERE'S A SWEATER IN THIS CLOSET SOMEWHERE
No, I don't know about that. Sitting in
Cranston's, the girl comes up to me
with the magic mirror and says, 'would
you like to come in?' I was flabbergasted
and meant nothing by my non-reply.
What I wanted to say was, 'Get lost,
you pesky bumble-bee.'
-
Now it's five days later and they're
rehearsing the torches for the
St. Patrick's Day Parade. I never
know why men do these things -
maybe just as their excuse for
staying drunk. Medieval saints
and Serpents of Evil? Give me
the break, when it gets here.
-
Where I'm living now, there's no
excuse for anything at all. They
too have their Saint Patrick's Day
Parade, but for some reason, for
them, the end-site awards and
the festivities are held at the
Hungarian-American Club.
Go figure that.
Go figure that.
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