The DrewMamasburg Address
One score and six years ago some lady brought forth on this continent a new person, conceived in a 7-Eleven storeroom, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are morsels.
Now we are engaged in a great big hullabaloo, celebrating the improbable event that such a blight on humanity could so long endure. We have come to dedicate a portion of this blog to wish blessings upon him. The jury's still out on whether it is fitting and proper that we should do this.
Because in a larger sense he is all that is wrong with the world. From his annoying habit of stomping around, destroying our communities, to his disdain for our pure air, which he befouls with his unholy odors -- we would be more blessed to be rid of him once and for all. Yet we must sing...we must give gifts...we must feed cakes and sweet ice cream treats to this buffoon of a douche, because he's not really all that bad. After all, there was that one time he lent me his calculator and then there were all those rides he gave us to the bowling alley, where he didst lay down many gutter balls to our grand amusement. Dance, monkeyboy. Dance.
So raise a glass and pray that he might continue to grace us with the presence of his impossibly large hands and feet and the hilarious stumblings they cause him. Pray that he stick to his guns, that all those Phi Delt bodies laid waste upon the hallowed IM football fields would not have been in vain, that...well... maybe not the whole dislike of chocolate thing, for that is messed up, and he should repent of that leaning. Let him, instead, always work so that such a sumptuous and beautiful snack of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
September 8, 2006
Now we are engaged in a great big hullabaloo, celebrating the improbable event that such a blight on humanity could so long endure. We have come to dedicate a portion of this blog to wish blessings upon him. The jury's still out on whether it is fitting and proper that we should do this.
Because in a larger sense he is all that is wrong with the world. From his annoying habit of stomping around, destroying our communities, to his disdain for our pure air, which he befouls with his unholy odors -- we would be more blessed to be rid of him once and for all. Yet we must sing...we must give gifts...we must feed cakes and sweet ice cream treats to this buffoon of a douche, because he's not really all that bad. After all, there was that one time he lent me his calculator and then there were all those rides he gave us to the bowling alley, where he didst lay down many gutter balls to our grand amusement. Dance, monkeyboy. Dance.
So raise a glass and pray that he might continue to grace us with the presence of his impossibly large hands and feet and the hilarious stumblings they cause him. Pray that he stick to his guns, that all those Phi Delt bodies laid waste upon the hallowed IM football fields would not have been in vain, that...well... maybe not the whole dislike of chocolate thing, for that is messed up, and he should repent of that leaning. Let him, instead, always work so that such a sumptuous and beautiful snack of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
September 8, 2006
posted by Skim at Friday, September 08, 2006
1 Comments:
and i was about to cross you off from my blog list. well said, amen.
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