If I say, “Because you’re hot,” you’ll say, “Well, how the hell you do you know? My picture’s not in the gallery!” and then I’ll have to say, “Well, I’ve had some of the lower-ranked minions following you around and taking pictures of you while you work, not for any ooky sexual reason you understand but because your post-graduate astrophysics work will be useful to me in ways you cannot currently envision but which will in the fullness of time allow me not only to become unquestioned God-King of New Zealand but will also permit me to bake the most perfect chicken casserole ever conceived in the heart of man and in so doing win the heart of Natalie Portman,” and then you’ll say, “I don’t know how you think that isn’t ooky, you sick freak, and I’m running a rootkit check right now to see if you’re taking over my webcam,and did I mention that you’re a sick freak?” And I don’t want you to call me a freak, so I’m not going there.
So I’ll say it’s cause you know about microwave background radiation and junk.
You’re welcome. And now I’m going to need you to work harder on your current project. You don’t need to know why; just get it done soon, and stay out of EnZed until…well, you’ll figure out when it’s safe to go.
I didn’t miss your cookie remark earlier, by the way. My friend hasn’t sent me the recipe yet.
Would it be the 1930s musical theatre universe, where my face would turn coal black, a cane would drop from the sky into my hand, and I’d magically take to tap dancing and soulful singing, the 1940s musical theatre universe where I’d be turn Italian and start crooning about dames and broads, or rounding up dogies on the lonesome range, or the 1950s musical theatre universe, where tens of people would suddenly join me, and the facade of the closest building would open up to reveal a pool lined by 20 or more smiling synchronized divers in identical hairstyles?
Depends on what you’re doing I should think. If you’re outside, expect to bellow out a paean to the land, this land, this here land that you love. If you’re looking for trouble, all your gang will drop in behind you for some synchonized dancing and fighting. If you fall in love, you’ll probably bellow into your babe’s face an ode to her beauty and how you don’t deserve such bliss, while she looks at you dreamily.
No worries. The cookies thing is a line from a very good friend of mine who claims he keeps me around for my amazing memory, ability to jog his memory at the right time and providing him with home-baked cookies.
