So, I'm walking down the hall to get my coffee, minding my own business, when one of the executive admins pops through a door down the hall ahead of me. She's tall, slim and detached. Y'know...cool, but aloof. As she's walking, the battle computer that is my mind was momentarily agoggle, "What th-? Izzat? Is she wearing...Booty Pops?!?"
She went into her office and I went on to the kitchen to clean out my cup. So, as I was in the kitchen sub-audibly remembering something that I'd forgotten, who should walk through but the admin. She asked me who I was talking to. I said, "Myself." I was pouring cream into my cup when she walked past. Using scientific observation methods developed through years of practical research, I was able to determine that the modest bootymeat that I spied was indeed a natural blessing and not an enhancement. Well, all right!
I made the mistake of clicking a YouTube link that my son sent me. Now, I can't get the screamo version of Crank That (Soulja Boy) out of my head. I'm disturbed that I like that version better than the original.
"Youuuuuuuuuuu!"
As Mentioned Elsewhere
A chick is not qualified to wear shoes from Frederick's until she's been Supermanned at least once.
...and that exhausts all Soulja Boy references for a year...or until he does something ELSE stupid (like release another CD)...whichever comes first.
Sleeepy!
When I do finally fall asleep during the day, somebody or something invariably wakes me up. My consciousness is tattered right about now, though.
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