A Little Piece of Glass

Well.. today I went to Virden. With my parents.

My parents are at the age where they don't want to drive too fast. Too fast being 110km/h. Now 110 IS speeding, but you don't get pulled over for it. So why not go 110? I don't know. But anyway, so I was in the car, a Buick, a four door Buick, a sand coloured four door Buick, and was travelling at aproximatly 3 km/h, when all of a sudden, we stopped at a stop sign. Now please, sit back down and get yourself together, I know that was very exciting, but lets all be adults here. The stop sign was just one of many exciting outbursts of intensity on my journy to Virden. At one point my father said "Symmentals.".... I guess he felt he needed to make a vocal note of what was in the pasture to our left. Then approximatley after 4 minutes of silence my mother said "Yeah". Now if that wasn't enough mind boggling dialogue in our trip, later on there was another outburst of words from my father, he said something about the oil pumpers that were pumping in the field to our left. Then a few frightening minutes later we were all thrown from our due north path and onto an enormous east bound curve! I must have blacked out after that cause all I remember from then till now is a whole lot of nothing.

Next time I get the chance to go to Virden with my parents I will be prepared, I will possibly take some sort of pills to calm my nerves throughout the whole strenuous ordeal.

Until next time,
Live long and prosper!!!!

A Little Piece of Candy

Please... sit back... relax.

But before you do that.. maybe you should look over your left shoulder.

What do you see? ... Do you see yourself? Do you see a monster?

What do you see?

This is a question you should ask yourself. Twice.

One day, I was paying for some candy at a gas station convenience store, and I was trying to get my wallet out of my pants (jeans). The jeans pockets were smaller than the usual jean pocket so I struggled. A very small but extraordinary struggle. It was me against my pocket... and the wallet was stuck in the middle of it all. Eventually I successfully extracted my leather bound colourful paper and coin holder from my jean pocket. This whole scene was whitnessed by the store clerk-cashier-moneytaker-man... and my scene caused him to, once I had my wallet out of the confinds of my pants, blurt out "Its a George Kastanza wallet". I was naturally taken aback by this mans blurtation of words of which I was completely not expecting. He simply missunderstood, for he thought the wallet was the hold up, but really it was the pocket in my leg coverings.

So what have we learned?

Looking over your left shoulder causes great questions to arise and moneytakers are now known to not understand my desperate situations.

Keep it keen,
Sputnik...