so why am i quippled
A dozen years ago, I was Parthree. No it is actually ten...
It was when I moved here, above the Par Three Golf Course, that I announced that I was going to be Parthree... I put that name up on the pool chalkboard at The College Inn... more than once... and I remember Babi Hammond knowing who I was.
At least one stranger commented on the name.
Before that, I was Thomas Argin D'Argin, of arguin' dargin fame... Well, maybe the dogs knew who I was.
And then once, I thought, well maybe it would be funny, if I swapped at least a couple of T's in my name with Q's, and so, I was Qom Qurkington,,, a name that means nothing...
But that made me think of quarks, which are qureatures of quantum meQuanics, and well, briefly I was Quantom. At least before I was Qurkington.
And then I started to die. I lived through 2 weeks of hellish pain, or was it three? no, I'd say it stretched into 4 before the surgeon cut me open... and the morphine made me think the pain was gone. But no, ... I watched Lost under the influence of percoset (sic?)
And then, well, how many years ago is that? It never really went away. I promised the surgeon I'd make a contribution to his favorite charity, but never really did.
For the percoset and the morphine faded. And the arms still feel the cold pain. Three months ago I started Pamelor, and a month ago I told my doctor I was cured... And then a week ago, well, the least favorite kiss brushed my lips again...
Perhaps it is gone, perhaps I am cured. At least I am typing with beer on my brain...
But when I returned, well, google had come. Dignity was lost in google's scum....
He said, well, I don't know the diocese that Quantom is from...
And wouldn't listen to any words I wanted to run...
So, I said, quck you! I'm no longer a quark! I'm quippled so don't give me no qrap! Or else that qrap will end up back in your qlap!
And love, well is like a flighty dove, she's as likely to grab you as give you a shove.
It was when I moved here, above the Par Three Golf Course, that I announced that I was going to be Parthree... I put that name up on the pool chalkboard at The College Inn... more than once... and I remember Babi Hammond knowing who I was.
At least one stranger commented on the name.
Before that, I was Thomas Argin D'Argin, of arguin' dargin fame... Well, maybe the dogs knew who I was.
And then once, I thought, well maybe it would be funny, if I swapped at least a couple of T's in my name with Q's, and so, I was Qom Qurkington,,, a name that means nothing...
But that made me think of quarks, which are qureatures of quantum meQuanics, and well, briefly I was Quantom. At least before I was Qurkington.
And then I started to die. I lived through 2 weeks of hellish pain, or was it three? no, I'd say it stretched into 4 before the surgeon cut me open... and the morphine made me think the pain was gone. But no, ... I watched Lost under the influence of percoset (sic?)
And then, well, how many years ago is that? It never really went away. I promised the surgeon I'd make a contribution to his favorite charity, but never really did.
For the percoset and the morphine faded. And the arms still feel the cold pain. Three months ago I started Pamelor, and a month ago I told my doctor I was cured... And then a week ago, well, the least favorite kiss brushed my lips again...
Perhaps it is gone, perhaps I am cured. At least I am typing with beer on my brain...
But when I returned, well, google had come. Dignity was lost in google's scum....
He said, well, I don't know the diocese that Quantom is from...
And wouldn't listen to any words I wanted to run...
So, I said, quck you! I'm no longer a quark! I'm quippled so don't give me no qrap! Or else that qrap will end up back in your qlap!
And love, well is like a flighty dove, she's as likely to grab you as give you a shove.
1 Comments:
if it wasn't obvious, the 'q' in 'qlap' is silent. otherwise, someone might argue, I'm this and that because I don't like who I am. My response, 'like most folk, I think rather, it's just that I don't know who 'q' am.'
q.
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