Penelope Cholmondely raised her azure eyes from the crabbed scenario. She meandered among the congeries of her memoirs. There was the Kinetic Algernon, a choleric artificer of icons and triptychs, who wanted to write a trilogy. For years she had stifled her risibilities with dour moods. His asthma caused him to sough like the zephyrs among the tamarack.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
God Dammit France Stop Being Better Than Me
Todays post is a break from the story. Todays post will be entirely about rollerblading. THIS
WHY DIDN'T THEY SKATE UP THE EIFFEL TOWER. No padding at all? They must have nothing but scar tissue on their elbows and palms. And faces.
ReplyDeleteI could do that stuff I bet.