Is there a more perfect time for napping than a dreary Monday afternoon in late March? Would that I could go home, curl up in my Snuggie, er, comforter and snooze away the rest of the day. Sadly, a late afternoon trip to Sleepytown — take your first left after Funkytown, you can’t miss it — just ain’t in the cards. Instead, I think I’ll lean back at my desk, close my eyes and listen to this track courtesy of one Mr. Neil Cleary over and over again.
Gold star to the first person to correctly identify the tune. And a silver star to the first person to correctly complete the lyric in the heading of this post . . . wink wink . . .
Note: star offers not valid for Neil Cleary.
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are you allowed to say that on the internet?
also, I think Neil perhaps has a little too much time on his hands.
Oh . . . right. Good point there, Ty. Disregard the silver star award. That was sofa king silly of me. . .
As I told Neil, this underscores the compositional soundness and melodic complexity of The Pants, even if it is fuck all silly.
Another Snuggie user? What the hell is going on in Burlington?
Hey, if “Starfucker” on the internets, then certainly “and fuck your brains out.” But since the silver’s off the table, I’ll just add the little reminder above makes que sera suck just a little bit less. Thanks.