And the planet we all reside on will show a noticeable improvement.
(Just let the copyright lawyers figure that one out.)
In other news: I did not win the lottery.
Which, really, you could figure out. If I did win, I wouldn’t be posting now. I’d be on my way to Columbus to collect my giant cardboard check. “Woo! I gots me all the numbers right! Gimme mah big-assed check!” So it’s just as well I didn’t win.
With my new-found, fabulous wealth my whole life would change. I’d have to pick up a polopony (pronounced: po-LOP-o-nee) and join the Country Club. Or two. (I’d get two poloponies, just one Country Club.) Then I’d be all happy, trying to fit in at the Country Club. Then I’d find out they were all tittering at me for using the wrong fork to eat my lobster bisque. (Yeah, I know, you eat lobster bisque with a tureen. Wadda ya think I am? Some rube? I’m just using it as an illustration.) So then I’d be all sad. But not for long! I’d discover my True Friends would Stick By Me. Then we’d take the rich snobs on at the Annual Golf Thingie that’s real important to the head Country Club guy. We’d show determination and moxie (I wouldn’t show my moxie, unless it’s vital to the story. I have integrity.) and fair play and crap. Then we’d loose the golf thingie. We’d be so sad. Until the other Country Club people tell us that they really Learned a Lesson from watching us. Now they want us all to be in the Country Club forever! Huzzah! At the very end, we (all my True Friends) would be bowling, eating ham sammiches and drinking beer, just having a great time. Then you’d look around and see that the bowling alley is really the Grand Ball Room converted to a bowling alley. (Earlier, I would have said something like “The Grand Ball Room is big enough to bowl in!” or something like that.) And the rich, previously snobby, Country Club people are bowling too. Eating ham sammiches and drinking beer. (With no talk about lobster tureens.) Then you’d see the ex-wife of the head Country Club guy (“I’m leaving you Nigel!”) cozying up with my best True Friend (played by Lenny Clark) and she looks way hotter with her hair down and in a tube top. (Her hair isn’t in a tube top, she is. It’s real sparkley too.)
So, really, it’s just as well I didn’t win the lottery this week. I don’t like to bowl.
In still other news:
I was at the meat store yesterday and the butcher had his thumb in a big bandage. He said it was because he was using the meat cutter and wasn’t paying close enough attention and cut his thumb real bad. It should heal up OK, which is good because if he lost his thumb on a meat saw, he’d have to go be a Shop teacher or something.
Anyway, what I figure happened was he was weighing some meat and he left his thumb on the scales. (An old butcher trick, ya gotta watch for this. I know, I saw it on TV once. Then Alice was like all mad. “Sam never does that! Why I otta stick with my Sam!”) Only this time he was cheating some big Mob boss. So he, the big Mob boss, sent one of his goons to teach the butcher a lesson.
That’s what I think.