The Game Ain't The Same Since I Left Out
Yes, I'm back in Utah. The plane ride was full of bad (read: AWESOME) turbulence, and at one point, I started to consider what it feels like, exactly, to be burned to death in a fiery aircraft impact. I realize I probably just made someone (read: my mother) worry herself to pieces, but the turbulence really wasn't that bad; I was just hopeful. And also glad that I'd had the foresight to instruct my ride what to do in the event that my plane DID crash, so he wouldn't be hanging out at the airport for days. Airports are terrible places to hang out; five-hour layovers are bad enough, but to have to deal with the overzealous passenger pick-up lines at the Salt Lake airport for three days before finally deciding I'd run off to Hawaii instead would be fairly hellish, I think.
Except that my plane landed safely after making some stomach-swooping drops high in the air over the city, and I didn't get to find out how instant "instantaneous death" is anyway. Maybe next year. But I DID get to find out (again) how much I like Chris Rock. We watched "Madagascar" eventually, and to whoever told me it wasn't a funny movie at all, in any way: You are dead to me. Unless you happen to be someone I really like who just exerted poor judgment in this one instance, perhaps under the influence of illegal drugs and Roger Ebert. If that seems to fit you, then you're not dead to me after all, but consider yourself on serious notice. And picture my wagging my finger at you, Colbert-style.
I just wish I could remember who it was who told me to stay away from this movie. It's probably a good indication that I should either, A. keep better track of my friends, B. pay closer attention to them when they're speaking to me, or C. start thinning the list of "my peoples," because once I start getting them all confused with each other, it's clear I have too many.
In any case, hi, I'm back in Utah. If you share a similar ill fate, go ahead and drop me a line, and we'll hang sometime, lamenting the arctic, Mormon-filled desert we're all exiled to, or something.
Except that my plane landed safely after making some stomach-swooping drops high in the air over the city, and I didn't get to find out how instant "instantaneous death" is anyway. Maybe next year. But I DID get to find out (again) how much I like Chris Rock. We watched "Madagascar" eventually, and to whoever told me it wasn't a funny movie at all, in any way: You are dead to me. Unless you happen to be someone I really like who just exerted poor judgment in this one instance, perhaps under the influence of illegal drugs and Roger Ebert. If that seems to fit you, then you're not dead to me after all, but consider yourself on serious notice. And picture my wagging my finger at you, Colbert-style.
I just wish I could remember who it was who told me to stay away from this movie. It's probably a good indication that I should either, A. keep better track of my friends, B. pay closer attention to them when they're speaking to me, or C. start thinning the list of "my peoples," because once I start getting them all confused with each other, it's clear I have too many.
In any case, hi, I'm back in Utah. If you share a similar ill fate, go ahead and drop me a line, and we'll hang sometime, lamenting the arctic, Mormon-filled desert we're all exiled to, or something.
posted by juxtaposer at 8:06 PM
6 Comments:
I'm back in Utah, and I'm bored, 'cause no one else is. When was the chocolate milk party suppose to take place?
I was told of no such party Liz, you slacker.
What's it like to take he train? I allways thought that would be the most interesting trip..
If you were anyone other than who you are, I might be inclined to believe that there is a double meaning to your title. But you're mormon, so no double meanings.
Google the lyrics, Craig. Google away.
Oh, and as for the chocolate milk party, umm...when are people free? Because I'm completely serious about this. And you're all invited.
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