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Feb 08 2006

“No, I don’t have any weed!”

My right eye has now improved to the point where it no longer looks like I have the world’s worst case of conjunctivitis.

Now it just looks like I’ve been been toking it up in the bathroom willy-nilly. So instead of assuring people that I’m not contagious, I’ve had to switch to telling them that I’m not stoned. Needless to say, I am rocketing up the company list of Most Oddly Entertaining Colleagues – Worldwide at a record pace.

I returned the final proofread chapters of the dull-as-dirt manufacturing inventory control textbook to its author last night, which was both a relief and a triumph. Then Dr. Darling remarked that the money I earned on the project will probably be just enough (after taxes) to cover the rent that Swedish law says we are obligated to pay for the apartment we will no longer be living in come April…so my sense of accomplishment was very short-lived.

I’m suddenly reminded of that great SNL short film in which Eddie Murphy plays a convict who wins a prison  poetry contest:

Images by Tyrone Greene …
Dark and lonely on the summer night.
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Watchdog barking – Do he bite?
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
Slip in his window,
Break his neck!
Then his house
I start to wreck!
Got no reason —
What the heck!
Kill my landlord, kill my landlord.
C-I-L-L …
My land – lord
Def!

 

Feed my ego!

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