It’s Not All Mary Poppins

All I Want, redux

Just so you can see how thoroughly tongue-in-cheek that song was, I’m giving you the final two verses:

I want my hand on the wheel of fortune
I want my lottery numbers to match
Some people out there are screatching and winning–
I just scratch and scratch and scratch.
I want the body of an Olympic athlete:
the mighty arms and the powerful thighs,
flexibility and aerobic fitness
without doing any exercise.

Chorus.

I want a job full or gratification
that pays a six-digit salary:
something exciting with status and power
but no responsibility.
I want a mate full of wisdom and beauty
a heart of gold and a PHD
I want a woman who is total perfection
but doesn’t notice any faults in me.

September 15, 2005 Posted by | Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Context, please

George: Have you ever seen a rolling stone?
Darcy: No, I haven’t.
George: Neither have I, but they’re very loud.
.
.
.
.
.
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(We had a Stones concert in town this summer.)

September 15, 2005 Posted by | Uncategorized | 4 Comments

Dr. Freud, Jr.

A heap of duplo rattles on my livingroom floor as the three boys crouched around it sift and sort through the mass of primary-coloured blocks. Harry, George, and Darcy, each busily stacking the blocks into towers and helicopters, garages and truck, dogs and trees. All their creations look strikingly similar: skyscrapers of varying heights, layers of red, blue, green and yellow. George notices Harry’s tower. It is by far the tallest any of them have managed to create thus far.

“What is it, Harry?” George’s voice is squeaky with interest.

“It’s an alarm clock.” Harry is quite sure of this.

“An alarm clock? What for?”

“For emergencies. It’s on the town hall. The bell will ring for emergencies.”

George scans the height of it. “It’s very tall.”

Harry considers this a moment. “Yes. Yes, it is very tall. I guess it could be a penis.”

September 15, 2005 Posted by | Uncategorized | 9 Comments

The Things You Hear Yourself Saying, Part 2 (3?)

Stop licking your nose, please.

We don’t kiss strange dogs.

Oh, dear. Zach didn’t mean to spray his tortilla on your new shirt.

September 15, 2005 Posted by | Uncategorized | 7 Comments