File under “Richard Is Always The Last To Know”: when the hell did this come along? Why wasn’t I told? Was there a memo? Perhaps it didn’t reach me. Perhaps it was made of chocolate and one of my choco-holic coworkers–I won’t name names–downed it in a moment of choco-tragic glory! (That would be par for the course, given said office-mate’s affinity for chocolate decadence, death by chocolate, and other morbid confections.) Or perhaps yon memo was written in Sumerian cuneiform! I only have four eyes, people! I can’t read cuneiform! For godess’s sake, when there’s a memo to be passed around, please make sure it arrives on my desk written on paper and in English. Or elementary French. Or perhaps a rebus. Take your pick…
Jeez…
Yikes…
Pant… Pant… Pant.
…Maybe consuming five slices of king cake for lunch wasn’t such a hot idea.
Anyway, I’ve been listening to internet radio all afternoon to get my ass in the Carnival spirit in anticipation of several visits from several of you this holiday season. (You know who you are–it’s too late to back out now).
sturtle [dot] com 