Hey everybody - I’ve got the fevah! Casio fevah! Want some?
(Don’t worry, we don’t have to share the same glass or mix spit or anything)
Go here. Download “The New Sound”. Be prepared to have song stuck in head 24/7.
G’head and listen. I’ll wait.
Did you hear it? Did you hear it?
I know! It’s great isn’t it? It’s like getting knocked over the head with a big old hunka-hunka 1984!
The worst part is I cannot. Stop. Listening. I’ve been playing the song looped over and over and over at work and cube-mate Matt’s told me to knock it off already, but every time he goes for a smoke break (which is like, every 5 minutes) I sneak a listen.
Casio keyboardin’ is the new crack!
So, anyway, my obsessive tendencies * aside, know what?
Because they take all the available parking and they keep me up at nights with their “Olay! Olay! Olay!” The Chicago Fire (that’s soccer to those who don’t know, Football to those who do know and are annoyed by the American term “soccer”) sent me a pair of free tickets to a game (match? Spar? Round?) next week!
It was totally unexpected. I got the letter Saturday and opened it up and the tickets just fell out of the envelope and then I was all, “What’s that Marketing People of the Chicago Fire? You mean you’re gonna send a bunch (herd? gaggle? Flock?) of Hott International Types in sexxxy short-shorts to my backyard so they can chase around a little ball and rough each other up a bit and get all sweaty and you’re gonna let me watch for free?”
Feh! Are you kidding me? What do I wear?
Better yet, those of you in the soccer know, what do you think for fan accessories? The come-hither Oversized #1 Foam Finger?
Other weekend notables: my “slap the raw and bloody 2 pound T-Bone on the grill at the vegan bar-b-que” gag didn’t go over as well as I had planned.
I jest! I jest! For crying out loud, I am not that much of a meat-eating moron. I ate a bunch of yummy soy-y food and Boca-products and tasty greens right along with the rest of the crowd and had much fun.
Though, I cannot tell a lie. After lighting up a post-Boca Marlboro I took great satisfaction in reminding the self-righteous of the group Boca’s are a Philip Morris product so we are all in fact, throwing our monies at Big Tobacco, some of us are just cutting out the middle-man so please take your disapproving tongue clicking elsewhere!
Again, I jest! No one was being self-righteous at all. That was a lie. It was more like, “Excuse me, I’m going to step over here and get my lung cancer on. Who’s in?”
And I don’t know, maybe it was all the soy, but I’ve been getting excruciating charlie horses (horsies?!) in my calf the past couple of nights. I’ve always been told that kinda thing happens as a result of a potassium deficiency of some sort, so I got all primate and had myself a few bananas.
I hope that does the trick, because, and I don’t care who you are or what you’re wearing, it is most unsexy to hop out of bed at 3am pounding your fist to your calf screaming, “Cramp! Cramp! Craaaaamp!”
But sadly, in my case, it really makes no difference, as there was no one around to witness the event.
I think my newest pick-up line shall be: Don’t make me eat all those bananas in vain, gentlemen!
And, you know, I was going to go into another aging health issue but I realize now just how much of a Sunny Acres Retirement Community Newsletter has this become, so I’ll just save the “hangovers sure do get a hell of a lot worse after 25, “ gig for another time, k?
Because tonight - I drag my ass to the Laundromat!
Oh, the glamour.
* don’t sweat it, I actually ordered the entire CD last week. Should be here any minute –then I can loop the entire album as opposed to one track and hopefully it will be less annoying to those normal people of this world.