I thought after Wednesday's post that you might need to rest your brain cells a little bit going into the weekend, so as I'm always right behind you (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), I figure you could use some EXTREMELY light reading today.
For the past 585 blog posts (Holy Monotony Batman!) I've mostly ruminated on what kind of sense of humor I have at work. Never once have I ruminated, bloviated, contemplated, chew over, digest, ponder, think over, think about, think outside the box, think inside the cube, think pink, think mink, think ink, wallow in the deep recesses of my 3rd cousin fifteen times removed's squishy brain cells, and smoked a cigarette after doing the horizontal bop, about my sense of humor I have at home.
To say that my sense of humor at home is off the wall, would be like saying that the media's obssession with Sarah Palin is simply good news reporting.
In other words, we mix our metaphors with our cliches and we get Opus. Or Bill the Cat. Nah, not Bill the Cat. Bill the Cat is someone we all should aspire to. That is, if we can't become Dogbert or Catbert, except Catbert only works if you work in a corporation. Then again, unless your head was buried in the sand during most of the 80's, you probably don't get the Bill the Cat reference.
But I digress, or as others would say, I blogress.
Anyways, my sense of humor at home is very much from left field via right field or the cricket field.
Case in point is the title of this post.
Not too long ago, I became the de-facto owner/caretaker/feeder of two fish (a goldfish and a catfish). Every time I walk by them (for my den is right next to them) or feed them, I often utter that immortal sentence from that top five icon of the gay community, Burt from Sesame Street.
Now in case you don't know what that immortal sentence is, or more realistically, you're about four decades removed from Sesame Street, here's a little background dump: Ernie (that other top five icon of the gay community) decided to play a joke on Burt, by telling him how he caught fish on his latest outdoor excursion. So he told Burt that he had a bucket and simply called for the fish and the fish jumped in the bucket.
So here we have Burt hysterically escalating his call until he becomes unglued.
HERE FISHY, FISHY, FISHY, FISHY, FISHY, FISHY!!!!!
Yup, you guessed it, that immortal sentence has now become a catch phrase in my house.
Not only do I utter this phrase each and every time I see the fishes, but I also utter this phrase whenever I happen to be wandering through the house whenever there are other family members around.
Suffice to say, it makes me look like just one big goof.
Which of course is the main idea. So in addition to carrying on conversations with my Pooh Bear, I now utter strange phrases from seriously old t.v. shows as I wander through the house.
Remember kids, if you always mutter to yourself and occasionally say the same bizarre things out loud with family members present, chances are that they will leave you alone.
Which of course should always be your ultimate goal going into the weekend
Because as you know, the weekend does revolve around you and you should love every minute of it. Otherwise you may be just a blue collar man who gets heavy metal poisoning.