Can we get together? I really want to be with you. Come on, check it out with me. I hope you feel the same way, too.
If it's bitter at the start, then it's sweeter in the end.
Bom dia, grüß Gott and all that... Oh, and welcome to the world of Fib Sunday, dear reader! And what a day! The powers that be meddled with time (and The Doctor was not involved) in the night. I feel like the victim of a sci-fi horror novel. Guests in my home would have found me, at the ungodly hour of 10:40, sat around in my bra and pants. I thought it was 09:40. BST is a vile travesty of all that is strange about the United Kingdom. I feel like taking my bag of hammers to it.
Nothing stays the same, honey. Click here to read a story about the end of time. No, really.
I heard she drove the silvery sports car along the empty streets last night.
But I digress...
Having messed around with creating cinematic fabulousness last evening, folding pants and thoughts for the day (alright, it was only bloody You Tube), it's time to move from lowbrow to highbrow (I can dream, can't I?). From nonsensical campery to Fib Sunday, my little maid.
Don't mess around.
If you don't know what Fib Sunday is, or indeed, what's going on, click here for the original instructions. You'll thank me for it later.
1) I take the topic as given in last week's final entry, write a Fib and give a new topic.
2) Your reply to the topic is in the form of a Fib in the comment section.
3) You then supply the next topic.
4) The next visitor replies with a Fib on the newly given topic and then provides a new topic and so on...
A Fib is a six line, twenty syllable poem with a syllable count by line of 1/1/2/3/5/8. The only restriction on a Fib is that the syllable count follow the Fibonacci sequence. An example of a classic fib:
Math plus poetry yields the Fib.
Last time, Brian left us with the topic of the funniest song you've ever heard. My melodic yet humourous response:
When they play
That strange chicken song
None shall see me piss with laughter