That's about the extent of my humor today. I'm not cranky - in fact, I find the joke hilarious in a curse-you-Willem-don't-tell-me-these-things sort of way. I just had an incredibly mundane, boring sort of day, and I don't have much in the way of interestingness to bestow upon the world.
Why don't cannibals eat clowns?
Because they taste funny.
Staff meeting was canceled this morning, which may be considered evidence of a benevolent deity. Except that same deity was perched on the eave of my house watching me leave yesterday morning, and nailed me with an icicle. Oh, that was a treat. I was holding Jacob and laden down with the 57 different bags and items necessary to get the two of us out the door, and I must have been looking slightly upward, because the shaft of death, which started out about a foot long and an inch in diameter but was about the size of a jousting lance by the time it landed, glanced off my forehead before it slid between my glasses and my cornea and scraped just below my eye. I was left with this:
Doesn't look like much of anything, does it? And it wouldn't be, except my forehead has a goose-egg which hurts whenever I make a "that's gross" face. Which, I'm learning, is not uncommon. I wonder what that says about my lifestyle.
So, whatever, karma, what goes around, comes around, blah blah blah. Which leaves me with one last bon mot for the evening...
Descartes walks into a bar. The bartender says, "Can I get you a drink?" Descartes says, "I think not," and promptly disappears.
