Don’t be bitter, oh puh-leeeease. Don’t get better! Good grief, no! GET BUTTER!! : From my meme factory, hot and fresh to you.


bitterorbetter

You may be wondering.  And don’t shoot the messenger, agreed?

Cause this is when the little birdy told me:

David.  Sit down and listen up.  Read my lips.  I mean upper and lower beak.  Posts can be short. Remember SHORT?  I didn’t think so. And visual. Vis-u-al. After all, not every millennial can read and it is ALL ABOUT THEM.  Ya know?  Squawk?  Squawk?  Care for a minnow?

Well, it was irritating in the extreme to be lectured at by a birdy, and even more irritating to realize he was right.

Admitting someone else is right is the ace in the hole, the trump card, it’s 100 under par, it’s blackjack.  It’s not something you want to be doing more than, say, once or twice in a lifetime because god only knows people will start expecting it and then where would you be?

Exactly.

So now I have left maybe one more time in my entire remaining life to admit someone else is right, and that is a Big Deal.  It’s like walking around with the winning Lotto 649 ticket and planning who to thrust it on so that it is so totally random you KNOW it must be a set up.

And I’m already at the point where this is either going to graciously wind itself up or turn into a lapidary literary showdown in a territory somewhere between Joan Didion and Fran Leibowitz, with Flaubert keeping score.  Madame Bovary, c’est moi !

Thus with my completely unnecessary preamble rendered doubly redundant – which, if you think about it, works out to about four times not needed – I turn to those buxom, babushka-clad commie gurlz in the slowpainful meme factory who, sure as god made little green apples and the worms that destroy them, keep churnin’ out their tangy, partially coagulated, spreadable at room temperature and deliciously bad-for-you analgesic meme-creams for the soul.

And trust me when I tell you:  My memes are hot and fresh as a fourteen-year-old lad with a bottle of Axe body spray and a packet of condoms.

Consider yourself fobbed off.  Now, with my duties here complete and I a man of leisure, excuse me while I tuck in to a delicious dinner of roast, stuffed archetypal kingfisher with all the trimmings.

Yeah.

I shot the messenger.

moustached-kingfisher-610360

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