Silvery liquid? Sounds like a mercury problem, I prefer my water when it’s clear, ’cause it makes for less brain damage followed by death.
Comment by Nate — January 3, 2008 @ 9:45 pm
Louise, with all due respect, I must offer a rebuttal. Water used to be two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. There are many things that aren’t what they used to be, like marshmallows. Seriously, they aren’t even made of marshmallow anymore! Anyway, I’m fairly sure that as improbable as it may seem, water hasn’t changed in your lifetime.
Comment by J.R. — January 3, 2008 @ 9:53 pm
What a typical old bag of bones. Carrying on about nothing, old bat. It would have been a better article if she would have pointed out that most bottled water is from the tap at the bottling plant. Then, at least, she would have made all the bottled water folks look stupid.
Comment by Crank Yanker — January 3, 2008 @ 10:17 pm
This is classic!
However, I am disappointed that, after dear old Louise described her frequent summer bike ride “up two steep hills” that she left out the part about her subsequent ride up two more steep hills on her way back home.
Comment by Dan — January 4, 2008 @ 4:53 am
um… louise just described my childhood…
Comment by bob — January 10, 2008 @ 10:08 am
When I was a child, I’d have to wake up in the middle of the night, invent the wheel, and using an ol’ ham bone with pieces of bark fastened together with our own snot fashion a wheelbarrow to push my brother down the dirt road, around the bend, left at the Hamilton’s farm, through a rocky field of thistles and a-wasps nests, and using the shattered remnant of his severed arm (farm accident), my belt made of opossum sinew, and my brother’s good arm, drill down until we hit the water table.
Then we’d send a fleet of field mice down the shaft with beetle shells (left over from the snack Mom sent with us) tethered to their backs to ferry water up from the bottom. After the wheelbarrow had been filled, my brother and I pushed the darned thing back through the field, right at the Parson’s place, left at the old oak tree, left at the cemetary, left at the general store, then right at the Hamilton’s farm, up the dirt road only to find that in the meantime, our mother had died, our father had since remarried and had moved west, and the property had fallen into a sinkhole.
Now that was some might tasty water!
Comment by Discombobulatron — January 10, 2008 @ 3:10 pm
Ted, you’re going to have a gold mine of these out of the Webster-Kirkwood Times. Just that paper ought to give you fodder for weeks and months to come.
Comment by Migor St. Marseille — February 1, 2008 @ 10:32 am
I love when life imitates The Onion. Someone should tell Louise about oxygen bars and blow her blue hair-encrusted mind.
Comment by Dave — February 5, 2008 @ 3:12 pm
RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI
Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:
You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out / Change )
You are commenting using your Google+ account. ( Log Out / Change )
Connecting to %s
Notify me of new comments via email.
Blog at WordPress.com.