True story.
A few months ago, I was in Scranton, PA (Motto: "We're not stupid enough to be coal miners...anymore."), visiting family friends with my family. I woke up Saturday morning, and I was laying in bed, and I asked my brother the following question:
"If your bologna really did have a first name, and, like, you knew it, then would you really be willing to eat it?"
I believe he was speechless.
(And for those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, look here. Cretins.)
5 comments:
you do know that this is one of my favorite songs :)....
I don't think I could have bologna again. (This is coming from the girl who wouldn't leave a lone book in her locker over the weekend because she didn't want it to be lonely if she had to take all of the rest of her books home.)
Would you separate a mommy tangerine and a baby tangerine (you know when a little one is growing out of a big one, but didn't get to fully develop yet because the tangerine was cut off from the tree before it grew to its fullest extent?) and then eat them separately, so that one has to watch the other one die before it?
(Is there a name for my insanity?)
I'm not sure if there is a name for it.
Is there a name for you?
R.
Actually, it's not exactly R. That's just the initial for my real name: Bernard Gerardo Thelma Ann Kadosh. If you don't like "R," my friends call me Bernette. If neither suffice, and you are not yet contented, you may call me Meirav, which is not my real name anyway.
(Excuse me if I may sound a bit eccentric. In my own defense, I must add that the excitement of almost finishing my tests and having Idan Raichel come to town may cause me to behave so.)
Post a Comment