Tweetless in Seattle

This is a bit awkward for me to admit.... But... I don't.... Tweet. I'm tweetless. I am without tweet. I am tweetingly impaired. Unlike millions of Americans who don't suffer from tweeting related issues; I stand alone. A man without a tweet.

Whats more I don't know what a tweet is. Can't say at this juncture I am particularly interested or have time. Thats not to say that I am not a rebel in my defiance. I suppose if the right circumstance presented itself, I might tweet.

I'm just not ready. Frankly the whole thing scares me. Its all happening to fast. I can't keep up.
I'm twitterpated.

All about Koalas

OK. I lied. Not so much. OK. Not at all. This Blog is basically an opportunity for me to vent, rant, rail, whine, and share with the rest of the class. At first, I chose to put the adult content label on here, because of my tendency to use in-appropriate language; and my fear that some unsuspecting child might be doing a presentation on Koala bears and look this shcnit up. However, if I had time to work on my blog in unfamiliar areas I don't feel the need to splain as to why I was going to adult content areas.

I say this in the event that the idea of a minor accidentally stumbling onto some bad language or warped humor would be somewhat disconcerting; although I must confess the idea of an adult seeking "Adult Koala" content, is wayyyy more frightening. So if your here (and you know who you are) to see pictures of Koalas and ..... whatever it is that Koalas... you know... do. Please leave now, cause that ain't my gig. Its people like you that make the concept of the platypus believable.

To whit, I don't know which is freakier, the notion that our creator was "really bored" and or "really stoned" (Material borrowed from Robin Williams circa 1990's); or the Darwinian proposal that postulates that a Beaver was either "Really Bored" and or "Really Stoned" (the second part is all me).

Have a great day. Tomorrow we'll explore just how bored you have to be to invent bagpipes, and the game of golf; from a magical group of manly men who dared to combine plaid skirts with hairy legs.