…”some people call me Maurice…cause I speak of the pompitous of love…”
Hi! Good Morning to you all, I am so happy to be here. It is sort of the end of the week, so I will try to be brief ( …lol… ) there is a whole Sunday waiting for all of us out there except, of course, our friends in the Marshall Islands. Hey, Marshallians! dudes, ya gotta get to work! It’s not our fault you guys is on the wrong side of the dateline ( …no Britney, not for that reason… ). Don’t forget the lead underwear*
So, Sunday and almost all the proms are over and we know what that means…summer vacation time!
I can see that this is shaping up to be a placeholder Post, so let’s get right to the Wakefield Doctrine Lesson of the Day… now Readers, if you will turn to the Chapter on…….( …no! it’s Sunday (SUNDAAY!!!!SUNDAYYY!!… ) (…Can’t we please skip the lesson today?… )
Well, Miss Sullivan if you can get your little friend Britney and whats his name…Jimmy to sit down for a minute, I think we might be able to accommodate them.
Alright. You all have the day off, (especially you clarks). No Doctrine, no reflection, no analyzin’ or dramatzin’… just take the damn day off. (…I mean it, clarks!) Just go out to the day and live**. If you are still alive tomorrow, come back and tell us about your Sunday.
There, that should make you clarks feel better, an assignment. For tomorrow’s Post I expect a full report.
So, class. This being the end of the year and even though you are not graduating until next year…here is some music so you don’t feel left out.
Disoriented enough? No? Well before you go running out to the schoolyard…
Some more appropriate music…(keep listening, you just have never heard the whole thing…scott)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryJZ63k4mjk*
serious explodage…you know…nah…you don’t want to know and we don’t care…
**live, i.e. Life, the thing that passes by as clarks get ready for the best of all lives; the thing that continually lets down and disappoints rogers, mostly in the quality of people sent to assist them in having the best of all…lives; scotts… they do gots the living life thang down…Socrates notwithstanding and assuming that eating, defecating, pro-creating and sleeping comprise the embodiment of a well lived life, scotts are ok on this score. (…on that score they have much in common with the highest form of life on the planet, dogs. Except not as subtle.)
Hey! Moe RRReece!
About clarkscottroger
this scott made it all the way through. perhaps because i was the high school band. or maybe just because I wanted to show that some scotts do ocassionally have an attention span. or maybe just because. but in all honesty who gives a a shit.
“…Kill the cattle and…” what comes next? A scottian feast of rogers?
Ile de France is up in the heezy. Yo, frenchies. Wait! Don’t retreat so fast. Stick around. The french mother was teaching her son, Pierre about sex. She said, “Pierre, If Zey don’t do it our way, zen fuck zem.” Got a pair of parentheses I can borrow, Clark? Thanks. (You know the french invented oral sex..) As the British say, “They fuck with their faces.” Frenchies are excellent, though. I LIKE oral sex. So, Ile de France, Stick around. Stayez vous. Give us the french take on the doctrine. There are some Brits in the yard, but they seem well-behaved. You never hear a peep out of them. From Studley. Agree about the highest form of life. Dogs are the best people I know. Whenever I meet someone and go up to smell their ass, they get all funny about it. Some people even get mad. Not dogs. They’ll move their ass to give you a better sniff. That’s noble–and accomodating. People need to relax more. Dogs don’t get all fucked up about stuff. I believe all dogs are scotts. Honest as the day is long. Fun-loving–always ready to play. Like to run fast because they like to run fast. I will draw the line at eating vomit, though. I won’t do it. I’m against it. Dogs will eat their own vomit. I suppose it is…neater. They clean up their own mess. But I won’t do it. No matter how good it was the first time I ate it. I even like french poodles. Most dogs hump your leg. French poodles hump your face.
Mr. Miller. Reading your recent comments and especially the one above, you force me to add a chapter to the soon to be released “Mary Poppins with a Whip”. Seems it would be advantageous to have a subset of male behavior modification techniques for scottian men specifically.
Return my “baby” posthaste Mr. Miller. Posthaste.
you are asking a scott to see beyond (his) immediate gratification…he can’t help himself
…(of course this will cue either silence or a fuck you! as surely as saliva in a russian dog…)
it is cruel to ask the lower orders to aspire beyond what they have always known…beyond what may very well be insurmountable limitations…you know, the likilhood of ‘novel performance/geriatric canines’…not much hope there…
You clarks talk funny. Can’t tell what the fuck you MEAN, but, who cares? DS1, should I conclude that you appreciate my bon mots—or do you find my badinage reprehensible? Either way, as long as you call me baby. And you…csr….lower orders? In Ile de France we say Fuckez Vous! And what does likilhood mean? “Novel performance/Geriatric canines—-clever clark-talk for new tricks/Old dogs. You clarks sure do talk funny. I like it when folks talk funny.