As you can tell, I didn't make the same boneheaded blunder as last time by mistaking you Benedict Arnolds for my friends. (Could I have an order of Eggs Benedict with a side of hummus hash browns? Sorry, I'm at a local 50s diner, you weren't supposed to hear that, this darn text dictation nonsense is throwing a monkey wrench in my internal iCloud.) Enough with this buffoonery or tomfoolery; no matter what you want to call it, I call it making a grave mistake.
By the way, I went to junior college with Tom Foolery. He was a nice guy but could never seem to get his act together. I ran into him at a Trader Joe's in El Segundo and he was handing out flyers for the new Verizon store opening up in Culver City. The weird part was that he was completely suited up in a full on clown costume. Well, I guess it wasn't weird for me since that is more tame than my church clothes (you can bet the Holy Grail that I wear a Jesus robe, what do I look like a push over?) When I asked him what his clown name was, he said that he didn't even have to change his real name which saved him a ton of time that he would have had to devote to filling out paperwork and obtaining the proper permits. When he asked me what I was doing nowadays, I told him that I drive for both Uber and Lyft. He said that seemed pretty cool since I could make my own schedule and be my own boss. I said yeah but every time I drive to the grocery store, I feel like I want to pick someone up on the way there and pick someone up on the way back just because I'm basically already in my office. He said that must be difficult on my family and I agreed then we man-hugged for a few seconds and I never saw Tom Foolery again. Then one day I was watching the news and saw that he won an award (the highly coveted Bejeweled Red Squeaky Nose) for the farthest squirting flower lapel at the Super Bobo of Clowning which is held each year at an industrial park a few miles outside Winnipeg. After hearing the tremendous news, I poured a tumbler of scotch, perhaps a bit too heavy handed, and the next thing I knew I was knee deep in a heated game of Canasta with a lovely family of opossums and an ornery chipmunk.
Wishing you the best (wait, I was supposed to be angry at you; I am just not very good at this whole angry thing, it fits me like a throw rug fits a night club. That rug would not tie that room together. Wait, why am I quoting movies that I should have starred in?)
The Nicolas Cage
Buy Chris's books SPONGE CAKE & WHAT'S IN THE FRIDGE? on Amazon
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