The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Thursday, June 24, 2004
Today, Adelard of Bath and I began a fierce, brief, angry, greasy, gropey, filthy, stealthy, sweaty, illiterate, and ultimately erroneous two-man public picket-line-cum-demonstration on the walkway outside our workplace, the Bureau of Records and Reports.

Long did we stride the wide walks. Long did we pound the petrified pavements.

Long did we stomp the many cracks with their many ants, wearing no pants, doing their strangely insurgent ant-dance.

Long did we chant (in time) lines of rhyming ridiculousness, dithyrambic beats echoing over and over and under and through our ungodly Microregion's unholy streets.

Long did we duel. And duel we did, with sticks, yard-long, splintery and liken to those of popsicles most delicious. Our duel was did as if in impromptu agit-prop drama depicting our despicable Hegemon and the Assistant Director of High Finance (a most illiterate man) in the throes of chicanery insufficient and mean.

Upon his stick, written in Adelard of Bath's florid (but highly illiterate) hand was our faint plaint: INCOMPETENCE.
And upon mine own stick: FATE SEALS ALL CRACKS.

After many long minutes of prancing, dancing, undulating and flitting, we were informed by the inanest of passersby that both the hated Hegemon and the Assistant Director of High Finance were, in fact, in absentia. And that our efforts were for naught.

Bloodied by an errant blow, mind deformed by deleterious rage, and emotions too raw to weep, I then retired to the Au Bon Pain for a chicken caesar salad.

Love yourself.

That is all.

So many blogs and only 10 numbers to rate them. I'll have to give you a 7 because you have good content but lack of quality posts.

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