It amazes me, really does. I'm smitten. I sit here day after day reading various posts from other bloggers, Twitterers and Facebookians and I'm like in the twilight zone or something. I have to pull at myself just to bring myself back to earth.
You know, I had visited many a library in my time, from the river's edge of the Arno to the Little House of Books on the Thames and had read various authors, well-known authors and let me tell you, I had wasted my time. I could've stayed home and logged on to Facebook or Twitter instead. Instead of Dickens we have, well, who do we have here? There are a few Facebookians and Twitterers who come to mind. Well, excuse my ignorance or my feeble mindedness but the names of these bloggers are eluding me right now. In time, though, just like always--my memory will return to its acuity and I will celebrate--first by unearthing the bag full of lira I had buried years ago-- saved for a rainy day. And then I will don my sombrero and do the polka with my parakeet. I love the rites of celebration, really do.
I'm a busy man, so busy in fact, that I have a hard time keeping up with the comings and goings around here. If only I had more time. Maybe you guys can wire me with an update or something. I'd really appreciate it. Some of you, I know this, have much more time than I do. I know that one gal, Bloggy Blue Butt sure does. Geez, how does she do it? She must be glued to her blogging chair, I tell ya. And there are a few others, but I don't know if I should mention them by name, I may get sued or something. I'd hate that. The last time I got sued I had to fork over my T-bone. The steaks were high, what can I say.
I wish I had more time to involve myself in one of the famous cliques that we have here on the Facebook or the Twitter. But most times I can't get a word in edgewise. I often have to sneak it in. It's like I'm on the outside looking in. The story of my life, I tell you.
Okay, I have shared with you a piece of my mind, a very, very small piece. I had it measured and it measures in at .000000143 of the totality. Hey, at least it's better than nothing.
As most of you already know, I'm multifaceted. That's right, I'm a man with various dimensions. Now, ladies. . . let's not get carried away here. No innuendos. Just kidding. Oh, I am suddenly reminded of that time when I was carried away.
I was at one of those all- you- can -eat Swedish Smorgasbords and took full advantage of its offerings. One thing I didn't understand though was that big sign over the buffet line. It read: "Absolutely No Carry Outs." Well, excuse me for going against policy but let's see you eat 12 pork chops, three pizzas, a pot of Swedish potato stew and a Swedish meatball and see if you're not carried out. After that incident, a change of policy was instituted which in turn, instigated a change of sign. The little painter guy with the purple mohawk and pencil-thin mustache reconfigured the sign which now read: "Eat it and Beat It. And don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out." Not wanting to go against policy again, with a new sense of invention and a sudden bout of creativity I obliged, thank you. I crawled right out that door backwards. And who said I'm not a genius? If it was you I'd kick. . . kick your soccer ball and scream.
Oh, and because I am such a genius I was rushed to the hospital after that incident. A concussion. That was one frickin' door, let me tell ya. I think it was made of solid iron and its retraction spring was set way too high. Hey, I ain't no spring chicken.
Thanks for listening,
Ricky J. Fico XXIV
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