Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, look good. They look good because of their professional packaging. Nothing inside, not even air. It's a special talent they have. I couldn't do it, so count me out.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, went for a walk and never came back, for not particularly obvious reasons because well — who knows? Anyhow, wouldn't you if you had the chance?
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have each been married. Not to each other, of course, or to anyone else either, because it's so much easier not to, and the simple solution is usually best for obvious reasons, and they like to be obvious.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, want to do something uplifting, so they're taking subscriptions for their feelgood service. You pay them and then they think good thoughts. If you don't feel better, you get to upgrade to the "Pro" plan and pay through the nose by the week until something happens.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, have no business relation to Captain Obvious other than their mutual, mirror-image lawsuits for trademark impersonation.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, yawn in unison. It's sort of contagious too — if you know how yawns go, except that for me retching is more the thing. Everyone has their own response to life. For me it's mostly vomit.
Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, had a garden party. Everyone was invited, except the people they didn't like. I still had my sock puppet, so no ground lost there. Anyway, I'm allergic to parties, being one of the original nonpartisans.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@gmail.com
Me? Recently confused again.
