Go-Bots vs. The Evil Emoticons
I’m an emotional guy. For me, over the top is never high enough. I write poetry. I cry even at funny operas (except at Xerxes where I fell into a doze). Drop a hat. I’ll cry. Take me to a waterfall. I’ll go into convulsive shock. That’s why I write on this forum. I can let it all out. Otherwise I would probably explode. That would be a shame.
I guess we’re all different. Accountants don’t gush. Poets do. If an accountant did gush, you probably wouldn’t want to hear it (“Oh, the margin of error on this spreadsheet is less than two percent! Someone break open the foie gras!”) Fortunately, they usually don’t. I could give a parallel example: ducks don’t clap. Why, you might ask? The answer is simple: They…don’t…have…any…hands. Besides a clapping duck would be really creepy.
Often I begin my posts with the word ‘sometimes’ which I guess is kind of silly.
“Sometimes, I like to paste paper feathers on my arms and then flap my ‘wings’ on the Chicago el screaming “I’m the last of the passenger pigeons!”
Chicago’s in the Midwest. People say the Midwest is boring, but that’s not true. It’s not boring if you’ve been dead for a long, long time. It’s not boring if you have billions of dollars and can afford to jet shuttle to Tokyo and Cairo. It’s not boring if you’re running from a cougar. It’s not boring if you’re really, really into corn.
Chicago’s the biggest city in the Midwest. Which is kind of like saying Jamaica Hills is the safest neighborhood in Queens. Maybe I’ll run for mayor of Chicago one day. The best part of being mayor in this town is that it’s kind of like a lifelong position, kind of like being appointed a Supreme Court justice. I’ll run for mayor if I can wear a big white wig, and carry around a gavel screaming in my best Uptown Abbey accent “Case dismissed!”
Oh, by the way, there’s a quaint little boutique by my house that sells all kinds of British culinary delights. Including rock cakes. I bought a package of those little health nuggets and stupidly bit into one before getting on my bike. I actually gagged from the sweetness. It took hours for me to get rid of the butter film that clung to the roof of my mouth. Do British people really eat these things regularly?
Well, I guess I’m out of time.