"The": Pronounced "the", but a little more heavy-set than you would normally expect, is a girl's name, if she was genetically destined to be a professional wrestler or concrete crusher. I knew several. Knew them well enough to know to avoid on sight. To quietly slip into the bushes and cower.
Snotty. Slippery knots. Slimy nots. Slottery Snits. Always naughty. Also, the fifth sibling of the Durgle family, the others being Evil Emil, Immoral Laurel, Corrupt Casey, and Unclean Eugene. Close friends of my uncle's next-door-neighbor's son's daughters Girl Scout Obergruppenführer's second cousin. They all grew up to be piggy bank stickup artists.
As a builder of concrete things, I needed forms, so I tried adopting a human one, but it ran away. And no one wanted me as a custom-built wall anyhow.
Even after proving the concept unworkable, my family continued to specialize in tug-of-water contests. I still have wet feet.
If you can't stand the kitchen at least you can get out of the heat. Always a handy excuse.
"Reply Mere Elbow" said the note in the bottle. I pretended to be deaf in the eyes because though still afraid of them, I never accept commands from bottles, and placed it back into the toilet where I found it.
I was hoping to crucify myself this weekend but the do-it-yourself-kit didn't arrive on time. Another Corroded Virus #19 casualty. We watched TV and drank beer instead. And had a nice nap together on the floor. Maybe a lucky break after all, even though beer makes the cat fart.
If you want something done right, pay someone to do it. That way, if it goes wrong anyhow, you still have something done in a half-assed way, which is average, but done, and also someone to blame. Very cool, and you don't have to get your hands dirty.
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Me? Still trying to hang by my thumbs.
