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Originally Posted by RWood
Marc: I would offer you a Laurel and Hardy handshake; but, I would need to count my fingers afterward since it seems that you have yet to have your first coffee of the day.
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I've had
two coffees, so that would make me all better now (or, at least, quicker).
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So while the world keeps producing better idiots/morons/voters it is up to us -- those that have had their coffee today or will have it soon -- to set our own standards and not be influenced by the New York Times bestseller list.
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Here, here! (That's not a spelling mistake; I need you to come
here quickly as I appear to have again been caught up in the unusually binding and labyrinthine byways of trying to put on my black skivvy - I've started to lose feeling in my left arm, and my lips have become distastefully familiar with my right armpit).
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We must find those people that would take a bicycle trek while reading Moby Dick and tear out the pages read to lighten the load as the trip continued. People that read the newspaper comics first and then turn to the "hard" news. People who are willing to have an avatar with a guitar in the background.
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Would you believe that's a self-portrait...without a tripod (subject excepted of course...Hardy har har)? I am all for those Moby Dick bicycle-trekking chappies, as
physeter macrocephalus albinus is hard to come by on the open road, or even the closed roads, and trying to find and hold open the right page while pedaling madly towards a suspect horizon with your harpoon held at the ready over your head is no mean feet (because it's even harder by foot). I'd vote for a them.
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Perhaps we need a poll to determine if we should have a poll. After all, two polls don't make a right, but three lefts do.
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Two wrongs do not make a right; nor do two polls make a right; however two poles and a crossbeam make a goal and and two Wrights make an aeroplane, so together with can aim high and rule the world from above! (Well, at least we can rule about 852 feet of linear ground for about 59 seconds from our airborne ivory tower soaring arrogantly 10 feet above the great unwashed).
Also, I'm due another coffee. (I'd say "caffellatte" but then you might think I read "literature", and I don't want you putting this Escheresque, wound hole in that particular Schroedinger box).
Mr. Wood...you have my undying loyalty and service at your command. Go forth and pollify!
Cheers,
Marc ("Ishmael, call me")