Your Apple, My Eye.

One man's trousers is another man's pants. Or, as they say in Paris, France - "A moroseness runts a pathname in snorts". Or why is Ana measured in grams? Mad Daymen.
Perhaps I should call this blog "Oink Up Turban", but I guess it will end up Bunkaruption again with the next disk failure. Which is exactly what happened, but a completely different story - as it would make it My Apple on top of My Eye. And that's a bit unbalanced, me thinx.
I do enjoy a one-sided conversation every now and then, particularly the one going on today. It came in so many parts, I'd say thank Gut for the subscription. A whole new aspect of something so familiar... it's the day to day things that slip my attention. Well, I guess they shouldn't, considering how much time they take up.
"A day without sun is like night", said Hoo, "good morrow sunshine, wherever you are!" Mad Daymen! I carried so many ideas down the stairs... now where and when did they slip my mind? Seems I forgot. Didn't even notice I came home so much lighter than I'd left (including the breadrolls). You know, a blog is such a wonderful thing - just get the url tattooed somewhere it can't be overlooked, and there you are: no more "I'm a pianist but the rest I don't know..." Actually, when the kids grow up and the server didn't die, you can point them there and watch TV. And they'd still know what an incredible Yada you were back then... well, I was in this case, becuz you'd be reading books.
"He must be kidding", you think, "ain't that so?" But you know what - dis ain't no thisco, t'is ain't no pharty - t'is ain't no hoofing alround! And this month might as well see the closing of CBGB's, unless it get's deprived of its eyesight as the result of some sort of conflict with anyone named Nanook. Stop! Stop making sense! Maaad Daymen!
And so I did... (narrator: "To the buttmobile! Atomic butteries to power!" The blurred silhouette of the unknown stuntman that made Redford such a star fades into the stormy night... tbc.)