I’m sure I speak for many male hummn’ beans when I say I HEAR YOU! Okay, I’m a writer for Pete’s sake (who the heck is Pete anyway?) and I know you know I’m not hearing you. I’m writing a frikking metaphor here. The metaphor is “hear is read.” If I wanted to say it in similie, according to wordcrafters and lingo f’naticals, I would say, “I can like HEAR YOU! Suddenly naked Angelina is more popular than studlier apparati and software at incredibly low prices. Hey you guys, I am satisfied with my ‘ware, soft and hard, so stop the bleeping invitations to see Angelina Jolie naked already. I’ve not looked, and I won’t look (not that the notion hasn’t occurred to me). Instead, show me something I’d really like to see: an effigy of #43 naked, facing away from the camera, strapped to a wall and being consumed by hungry wasps and fire ants. You could even pour honey on the effigy. That would be okay.
And if any of you HAVE a picture of an effigy of #43 facing away from the camera, naked and strapped to a wall, being consumed by hungry wasps and fire ants —— I don’t want the effigy or what it stands for to suffer beyond the limits of the Geneva Convention; I just want evidence that the effigy is BOTHERED by the treatment. —- I don’t want to see it. save your BREATH!
. . . . metaphorically speaking, of course.
Live long . . . . . . . and proper.
