This melancholic chap can't find comfort, even though he spends his leisure time navigating one of those hunky-dory plank-skates I recall providing personal transport for the hero in my beloved Back to the Future.
This teen malcontent seems rather beastly. I held my tongue for a spell, in fear of inadvertently getting his goat.
Even the adults, sporadically scattered across this tragedy-tainted utopia, seemed in need of nurturing.
And some of these tots speak like common slags! I realize now that it wasn't my place, but I ventured to box their ears of one strumpet-mouthed young woman, only to be ridiculed in slang lingo I couldn't comprehend.
Realizing that I'd revealed myself as a square old geezer, I tried to assimilate myself, using a hasty approximation of this unfamiliar ecosystem's vernacular. I felt jolly vital, using such superlative punctuation!
But when no one paid me notice, I sheepishly returned to my old skin and embraced my identity. I am Alistair "Pip" Milner, a stately, ruddy gent who enjoys teas from many lands and the occasional broad comedy. When I inquired about the farce "Dodgeball," I received several prompt responses, reaffirming my faith in the forum.
And with that, I vanished, quite as fast as I came. (As for "Dodgeball," it's the dog's bollocks!) I fancy that the next time I need an oracle to guide my viewing habits (I'm already fostering great expectations about Brideshead Revisited), I'll consult these computer talkers and humbly accept their decrees as law. Even if I can't get an answer regarding the movie, I'll learn some new "vocabular," as the kids are calling it. Cheerio!
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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