lunch time at the bronze medalists
If I was to wrap my little finger around a tent pole and market it to sailors that enjoy weekends at bowling alleys, theatrical responses to monotonous poetry readings would be framed as a guilt driven soap opera. I should know.
The union of twenty-something ventriloquists saw fit to promote themselves through the guise of appearing to be and sounding like a parade of farting chickens. The string section struck a chord very much misshapen. It became even more dented.
An ancient conundrum walked into a bar and was met there by an absent-minded professor who specialized in Renaissance Dance Troupes. The two of them approached the bartender and each asked for a Schrödinger's cat Waltz. The bartender, not particularly well known, and certainly not named Bertine, offered them a rum'n coke as she was all out of Waltz.
1 comment:
Schrödinger's cat Waltz sounds like a good name for a band of rather esoteric music.
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