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shiny objects

Thursday, March 03, 2005


5.46am. Alan's been up for 48+ hours and I'm nearly delerious with fatigue and fever. For some undetermined reason, we begin to talk about words we hate. Naturally I mentioned my least favorite word ever:

"Flaccid!"

"Flaccid isn't that bad. How about scaly?"

"Withered!"

"Withered. Withered. Hmm. Wiiiiitherrrred. *screetchy falsetto with British accent* LAWRENCE, LAWRENCE DARLING, DO YOU TAKE WITHERED ROAD TO COCKTOWN?"

At this point, I start laughing. Hard. With my mouth full of water. I HAVE to spit it out. Now. Before I drown. So I turn to the side and let loose - all over my lap top computer across the room.










Do you take Withered Road to Cocktown?


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