I must confess to you. A small part of me was hoping to hear one of the twelve songs, all Chipmunks' Christmas carols, that I have on my iPod other than "White Rabbit". No such luck. The fates did not deign to free those delicious little falsettos.
I stopped a, man. On the street. Asked the f**k where the Chipmunks were. All he had were EXCUSES. I could tell he, was lying. Signs -- a guy's got seventeen of 'em.
Oh well. Live to fight another day. Alvin. Simon. Theodore. CHIPMUNKS. Right.
SO, what I got was Jefferson Airplane and by the time I arrived at the bottling plant I was so. JAZZED. I couldn't stop dancing. With everyone that I saw.
There was this one bottler. Roy. Asked me why my EAR PHONE was coming up through the back, back of my pants. Real heroic c********r. I tried to bite his hand off at the wrist.
It wasn't until the park ranger pulled me off of him that I realized it wasn't Roy I was biting. It was a sycamore tree. And that I wasn't even at a bottling plant at all. I was in the middle of Yellowstone National, PARK. All dressed up like sasquatch and scaring tourists. Busey, Hopper and that old bull dyke who played the mobster in Goonies. I think she's dead.
GOONIES. Ha. Right.
More next time. In which I, will hopefully, hear from everyone's favorite TRIO of quadrapeds. If not, more "WHITE Rabbit". Talk soon.
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