A professor of writing once told his class that a good project would be to write a sonnet every day for a year. It was absolutely impossible, he said, to write 365 bad sonnets in a row. I've always wondered if he was right.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
#399: The Case of the Missing Shoes
Don't talk to me about your missing shoes
Unless you've something humorous to say.
You've got to see the funny side, okay?
It's really an uncommon thing to lose.
You don't have to get mad, although you may--
You'd be within your rights, no question there--
but wouldn't it be better not to care?
Just shrug and chuckle: "Oh man, what a day!"
The cops? You're kidding, right? I've got some news
for you: they won't go hunt a purloined pair
of sneakers, man. Who says crime doesn't pay?
Stop leaving those damn things under your chair
perhaps, and--search my office? I refuse!
Just what are you implying, anyway?
_
Labels:
Humor
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment