The B-52s and Santana are still battling it out on my wall, with no end in sight. That is some weird masking tape. Why would 43 other records fall down and just leave those two? It's too bad, because the guy on Santana's cover's left shoulder used to become the mountain in Joni Mitchell's chalk mark in a rainstorm, such a seamless transformation.
And now I don't have to worry anymore. I ripped them both off the wall myself. I can sleep again.
But I made sure to take down Santana first, because I bet myself the B-52s would win.
2 comments:
what personality does the number 8 have?
I got some weird deja vu at this question. I think maybe, in some alternate dimension, I already explained to you the number 8's personality. 8 feels incomplete, lacks confidance leads a directionless life. It could be a snowman, but it's headless. If it could lay down, it would become infinite. The toy cars of its life are constantly crashing into each other. If the number 8 had a favourite brand of toothpaste, its teeth would be whiter. It can be traced without lifting the pencil from the paper. The number 8 needs no introduction, except maybe 7. You can kill an 8, but you can never take its panache. An eight only needs a cone to make it delicious.
Alternatively, the number 8 is an ant with its legs pulled off.
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