Long day of hiking yesterday, then back home to the cabin, late, where I took a sponge bath. Not a stitch on my bare back and wouldn’t you know it? One of the locals came around for a visit, right up to the porch. I ducked down and peaked at her though the window, a mama bear with a cub, the cub playing in one of the (many) trees in my yard. I snapped a quick pic while she ambled away. Then I quickly put some pants on.
Having just finished watching Lost in it’s entirety — for the first and last time — this last fall, this particular analogy is uncanny.
One of Trump’s recent childish/whiny Tweets inspired a barrage of puns, so for those of you who appreciate a good pun, here were a few responses:
The other night I went to the restroom to pee. It was sometime after six, I think, and I was winding down my work day. I rounded the corner, and came to the restroom door and saw that it was being cleaned by an older gentleman. I said that I could come back later, which basically meant that I would just hold it until I got home, but he was gracious and pleasant and told me to use the restroom, please.
I sent an email to a client recently, sending them some forms that I had completed and requesting their approval. It was a small project that, upon the client’s approval, we would then file with the appropriate agencies, etc. The response was prompt, “Excellent, thank you.” Being new to the firm and quite unfamiliar with our clients, I was confused: was the reply message approving the forms and the filing? Or was the client merely acknowledging receipt of the forms? I wasn’t sure, so I forwarded the message to the partner who handles this client and asked her whether this was an approval or an acknowledgement. Her response: Excellent, thank you!
Note: This hilarious segment has little to do with Brexit and a good deal more to do with a steamy story, read in a completely non-steamy way, by Gilbert Gottfried, recounting a completely unsexy erotic encounter with Big Foot.