This Is Very Important And Must Be Read!!
"I pretty careful when it comes to my socks. Certain philosophers have speculated as to why socks so often get lost whenever people do laundry, but- until recently- I never lost a single sock. But then I lost a sock in October of 2001. And then I lost another two weeks later, and then a third around Thanksgiving. And it slowly dawned on me that something was afoot. "What in the name of Andrew W.K. is going on?" I asked aloud while sorting my freshly cleaned garments. Why were my socks suddenly disappearing like Chinese panda bears?
What had changed?
The Answer: Mr. Smokey.
It occured to me that the only aspect of my laundering that had changed in recent weeks was my newfound affinity for petting a feline of unknown origin. Accessing the public laundry room in my apartment complex required that I breifly walk outside my building's back door, where I consistently encountered a large grey cat I liked to call "Mr. Smokey." Despite our initial differences, I struck up an amicable relationship with Mr. Smokey; whenever I saw him, I would scratch his kitty ears and his kitty tummy, much to his kitty delight. OR SO IT SEEMED! Evidence began to mount suggesting that Mr. Smokey was using this weekly exchange as a diversion to steal my socks, one at a time. It's still not clear why he wanted my socks, since it had always been my assumption that kittens wanted mittens (in order to aquire pie). HOWEVER, there was no other explanation for these disappearances. In fact, I have reason to believe there was a whole network of cats involved in this: Perhaps MR. Smokey stole my attention while a second cat(s) pounced into my laundry basket, snaring the best available footwear and fleeing into the darkness. I'm convinced an even larger cat (Mr. Orange) from a neighboring building was part of this conspiracy.
"How often have I said," asked the coke-addicted Sherlock Holmes in The Sign of Four, "that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" This is true; I am nothing if not logical.
Mr. Smokey MUST DIE!"
*from my book sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs the funniest book I've ever read... by Chuck Klosterman...the most random man i've ever listened to...
"I pretty careful when it comes to my socks. Certain philosophers have speculated as to why socks so often get lost whenever people do laundry, but- until recently- I never lost a single sock. But then I lost a sock in October of 2001. And then I lost another two weeks later, and then a third around Thanksgiving. And it slowly dawned on me that something was afoot. "What in the name of Andrew W.K. is going on?" I asked aloud while sorting my freshly cleaned garments. Why were my socks suddenly disappearing like Chinese panda bears?
What had changed?
The Answer: Mr. Smokey.
It occured to me that the only aspect of my laundering that had changed in recent weeks was my newfound affinity for petting a feline of unknown origin. Accessing the public laundry room in my apartment complex required that I breifly walk outside my building's back door, where I consistently encountered a large grey cat I liked to call "Mr. Smokey." Despite our initial differences, I struck up an amicable relationship with Mr. Smokey; whenever I saw him, I would scratch his kitty ears and his kitty tummy, much to his kitty delight. OR SO IT SEEMED! Evidence began to mount suggesting that Mr. Smokey was using this weekly exchange as a diversion to steal my socks, one at a time. It's still not clear why he wanted my socks, since it had always been my assumption that kittens wanted mittens (in order to aquire pie). HOWEVER, there was no other explanation for these disappearances. In fact, I have reason to believe there was a whole network of cats involved in this: Perhaps MR. Smokey stole my attention while a second cat(s) pounced into my laundry basket, snaring the best available footwear and fleeing into the darkness. I'm convinced an even larger cat (Mr. Orange) from a neighboring building was part of this conspiracy.
"How often have I said," asked the coke-addicted Sherlock Holmes in The Sign of Four, "that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" This is true; I am nothing if not logical.
Mr. Smokey MUST DIE!"
*from my book sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs the funniest book I've ever read... by Chuck Klosterman...the most random man i've ever listened to...
You're a doll, Carol.