Actually, it’s a banana. If that banana was formed of words rather than a molecular structure. AND only if said words strung together actually sung unspoken ballads of bacon, chocolate, and melodious maltodextrinized flabergastration.
I have no idea what the hell I just said. Pretty sure some of those words aren’t even valid. For what it’s worth, I did type them with a straight face.
I had a solid idea for this post prior to the actual execution of composition. It giggled and macarena’d away as soon as I logged in, unfortunately. If I happen to see it, I will sternly reprimand it and send it back for a round of apologies and metaphorical ear boxing.
You’re probably reading this malarky, puffed up and grumbling, “I have better things to do with my time that read this rubbish!” And you’d be absolutely right.
Why, you could be Armor All-ing your dashboard right now! Everyone knows that detailing after midnight produces a far more lustrous sheen on your car’s leather. (They say it shines like butter, but don’t you believe it. Tastes nothing at all like butter. Makes your popcorn downright bitter, in fact. Bitter, people, not butter! Yuck.) Coincidentally, it smells nothing like butter, either. Their marketing and research teams really need to hone their skills a little more.
You could watch a movie with the sound turned off and make up your own dialogue. But unless you are extremely funny, best reserve this for your alone time. Badly improved dialogue often results in a hostile takeover of one’s eyebrows by furious family members. Not fun. I hope mine will grow back any day now. (But I suspect they might be waxing them as I sleep. I still have trouble stifling my urge to peanut gallery the nightly news. Bummer.)
If those options don’t appeal to you, then how about designing tattoos? There’s always a demand for new tattoo trends. Personally, I would love to see a well detailed honey ham adorning someone’s hamstring. Or perhaps a tattoo that elegantly declares “Tattoo” across the small of a woman’s back. We could certainly use more tattoos that could double as public service messages. I would appreciate the honesty of someone with a tattoo on their abdomen that says “I’m With Stupid,” with an arrow beneath that points to their crotch. Sure, I’d steer clear of them, but hey, thanks for the warning, idiot!
I actually do have perfectly intelligent–or at least coherent–things to tell you about, but I suspect they’ll come out all goofy tonight. Much like the badass honey badger, I’m crazy. And also very sleepy.
Honestly, the fact that you read this entire post and lived to tell the tale is admirable. I totally heart you all.
Holla!
Memoirs of a Midnight Masochist 