When I’m feeling pleasant, all things in order and making progress in the world, I tend to hum. After a bit, left to my own devices, that will progress to a sort of un-hip scat, and eventually I can be expected to burst out in a line or two of song. It’s anyone’s guess what the song might be — I’ve never known why I pick the bits I pick.
Today is going well. I hummed. Left alone and continuing to thrive, there was a small field of “dah-doo-wah” around me. And then,
Does your girlfriend got the butt? Tell her to shake it, shake it –
– in my best lounge singer voice.
At work.
Er. I’ll just go back to humming for a bit, I think.
Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry
“Pardon me, ma’am. Do you know where you are? You’re in the jungle, baby. You’re going to die.”
All right, so, yes, it could have been worse.
…
Actually, the other snippet I’ve been prone to lately is Freak on a Leash … again, Richard Cheese has infested my soul and I am utterly soiled, a revenant of my dignity following me about dressed in a smoking jacket and a polyester smile, and somehow, somehow I can’t find it in me to fight it even enough to feel badly about it.
Something takes a part of me
You and I were meant to be….