Hark. Without the ubiquitous exclamation point. Who goes there? With the ubiquitous question mark.
(Note that Sedaka understands Catching and Up and Hard and Do to be so important as to be capitalized, or rather, Capitalized.)
(Note that your PB&J roomers are unclear as to why, seemingly against all apparent odds, Sedaka understood as such.)
(Note however, also, with that thought, that Sedaka dreamed of Muskrat Love, which may go a ways towards explaining just why Sedaka reputedly understood what Sedaka unmistakenly understood, said Muskrat Love which can't, naturally, (and biblically), be too far away from Muskrat Copulation, which however hard it tries, is not so far away from Muskrat Compilation or Muskrat Computation or, and you didn't hear it here, Dear Reader, Muskrat Coprophaliation, (which is in and of itself not so far away from Muskrat Corporation.))
So, yes, from Love to Corporation. By the way, don't look up 'Coprophaliation,' as we a) are assured you won't find it, and b) are more than slightly scared of what you will find if you do, despite our assurances, actually find it. You really only have to start typing 'C-O-P-R-O' in any search engine worth its spit - but not Yahoo, as Yahoo is not worth its own spit - to see what the problem might become. Here's the thing: don't say you weren't warned. And but no, don't even get us started on any undue momentary influence a little recent dillying and dallying in the body and works, when not both, of Lester Bangs might have had on the tmetic creation of 'coprophaliation.' Just, because, don't.
Which is, as our dedicatedly Dear Readers will already know, far afield from what brings the PB&J roomers to the Post About the Common Cold today. The question has been recently posed: how long should the Common Cold (as it understands itself to be Capitalized) (even when not part of a title of a post, ie., The Post About the Common Cold, when even an innocent (if hidden) conjunction can find itself Capitalized) last in the normal, relatively healthy PB&J roomer? 72 hrs? 96 hours? 118 times 60 minutes? Longer? 8 days, as the non-Excel-enhanced math is becoming too complicated for our feeble senses to calculate the hours involved? Longer even still? Well, and not to mention the swoon and pseudoephedrine-enhanced swazed brain fever one (ie., this PB&J roomer) has fallen sway to. We've sniffled; we've wheezed; we've ached, o, how we've ached; we've harked (Louie, Louie, oh, woe, we gotta go...) (and still, sans the exclamation point); we've blown, o, how we've blown (gutter-tripes, all of you, if your minds went where they shouldn't've just now gone - there are more ways to be blown than one or many); we've coughed; we've ointment-applied; we've drops-snorted; we've q-tipped, incessantly; we've fidgeted; we've infested (and we do believe that we do all know how much fun that can be); we've shared, both with and without the seemingly obligatory laughter and sadness that ordinarily accompanies such said sharing; one of us has had a knee ache, but that only may not be precisely related to the Common Cold; we've snizzled, sort of in the Snoop way, but then again, not at all in the Snoop way, we've drizzled. In fact, to be blunt, we're drizzling even now, this very second, as we type, as you read, no matter when you read, we're almost assuredly still drizzling. If only metaphorically speaking.
So, again, how long for a course-running Common Cold (ie., CC) to run its participlic dangling course?
Funny you (okay, maybe not you exactly) should ask. Going on 3 or so weeks. We say "or so" because there is frankly a time-space continuum issue when one has had a visitation from the CC as long as at least one if not both of us has enjoyed; it is becoming to the point that even the LHC cannot find the cure, and the LHC will eventually make the illusive Higgs boson seem elemental in comparison to the germ that is verging on the point of saturation within us, and so, if the LHC cannot find the cure, which is not at all to say that the LHC is even looking because we are not of the security class to be privy to such information, that must mean that the cure is even more illusive than the Higgs boson, which for illusiveness's sake, we would have previously put right up there no not left up there next to Dark Matter or Business Intelligence or Government Reform, re: Well How Hard Really Can It Be To Find questions that afflict us on a constant, daily basis. Which has little if not nothing to do with why really we're here today: rick-rack.
Anyone?
Rick-rack. Again, Dear Readers, minds up, out of the gutter. Not that sort of rack. Nay, no lamb here spoken of. Nor chop of lamb, for that (not Dark) matter. Rick-rack for the uninitiated (and who amongst us cannot at some point in their life have claimed that adjective) is a seamstress's nightmare. Mention it to any seamstress you know (go ahead: we'll wait, we'll be right here when you're finished) and see if they don't run in fear as though you're both in Salem and you've just cried 'Witch' in a crowded theater. Not to overplay the potential issues with what exactly happens when said rick-rack is applied to one's Pieces of Personal Clothing, especially when and or if said rick-rack is perchance tye-dyed rick-rack, but so imagine if you will: but first, know this, that the rick-rack-perpetrating one of us has adorned not one, none, zero, nada, zilch Pieces of Personal Clothing with the offending adornment of rick-rack, while but yes, definitely wanting to adorn the other's of us Pieces of Personal Clothing with nay, not only the offending adornment of rick-rack, tye-dyed, no less, but also the effrontery of patches; and but second, understand, Dear Readers, that not one, none, zero, nada, zilch pieces of either of our Pieces of Personal Clothing is indeed in need of either the adornment of rick-rack or the effrontery of patches; and but third, understand that wiki.answers.com considers 'effrontery' to be difficult to use in a sentence. Well, where else, ultimately, would you use 'effrontery'? Even the odd exclamatory statement, eg., Effrontery., (note: without the exclamatorily ubiquitous exclamation point), is, at its exclamatory heart, a sentence, if, albeit, a short one that makes no sense whatsoever. Okay, so, don't imagine, even if you will.
Because really, Dear Readers, our Tripes When Not Snipes of the Gutters, what is rick-rack but an unnecessary and apodictic exclamation point on the sentence of clothing? Even our dearly descended bearded butt knows that only the Pieces of Personal Clothing which bask in the glory of that which is known as fringe (yes, preferably something in suede) should then also enjoy the adornment of rick-rack. Or the effrontery of patches. Most of this, we do understand, is not really a question of morals, for instance, or dialectic leanings to one sway or the other. However, it is important to note that neither is the question of the adornment of rick-rack in any way related to one's beliefs, whether of a religious, or political, or polemical, or rhetorical bent. Obversely, the adornment of rick-rack doesn't come within a shinola's spitshine of relating to the Case of the Common Cold.
So why, you ask, perceptive, economic-minded Dear Readers that you are, conflate the separate and disparate issues of Sedaka's Muskrats and the Common Cold and the adornment of rick-rack? Your basic PB&J roomer is going to want to blame this - if not on the proliferation recently of the unnecessary exclamation point, and when not on the subtly overwhelming need to keep up on the latest acronymic language that substitutes currently and proliferately for language (and not just when in the native mode of the language, either, because, for instance, who actually says, "Ha. Laughing Out Loud." or "Rolling Around On The Floor Laughing Until I Snort Which Is Embarrassing At The Dinner Table In Front Of The Kids It Turns Out I Was Laughing At." (ie., RAOTFLUISWIEATDTIFOTKITOIWLA) (sans the rigorously expected but unwanted exclamation point(s)) - on the pretense of not catching necessarily up, maybe, but more, catching around. So that it might, just might, feel as though your trusted PB&J room has been around (when we have, but we haven't). Neil never espoused any wisdom regarding the joys of catching around. We are here, Dear Readers, snizzling, and drizzling, around, present.
So it goes.
