Tagged: Spam (“Meat”)

Ugg

I am very excited, O Loyal Reader.

Ecstatic even.

I’ve never been a much of a dancer, but you can bet in just a few short weeks I will jig the jiggiest jig ever jigged, so jiggy that Will Smith will record a new song called “I Thought I Was Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It, But It Appears John Pseudonymous Has Even Bigger Willie Style.”

Will Smith - Big Willie Style

He could even have Willow Whip Her Hair back and forth in the video if she hasn’t already given herself whiplash.

You see, the reason I intend to throw my hands all up in the air (and possibly even wave them like I just don’t care) is because in a fortnight I will have completed The Semester From H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks. As I’ve explained previously, this is largely due to the two statistics classes I have been This!-Is!-Sparta!-ing.

I realize my work for this fine publication has been spotty, and will admit that as the term draws to a close, I’m very preoccupied with smearing Braveheart-blue warpaint on my face for this final fustercluck of papers, proposals, and stattacks (that’s a word I just created at this very moment that means “the act of attacking statistics problems, either with or without a Light Saber”). I’d feared I would not have sufficient time to complete a Twincident this week, but as luck would have it, I was struck this morning with a jolt of…well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it inspiration, but, it’s…well…

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Baby Einstein Count and Compose Piano

Satisfaction (or Lack Thereof)

Not a whole lot has gone right in the Pseudonymous Household this week. In fact, the most prominent scientists in the field have estimated the past few days to have kicked my hindquarters more forcibly than a ninja grizzly bear/man hybrid shuts a vehicular door.

Baby Einstein Count and Compose Piano

Fair Warning: This post contains a grown man playing a toy piano.

Be not afraid, O Loyal Reader. Nothing serious has transpired–it just seems a devious conglomerate of small, annoying occurrences has established an Axis of Evil bent on thwarting our usually positive outlook. Everyone has bad weeks now and then, and apparently our number has been called at the Deli of Life, serving us an open can of Whoop-Ass (an alleged derivative of Spam) instead of the grocery-store-club-card-discounted honey-roasted turkey we asked for. Don’t you just hate that?

Such a week would usually be excellent fodder for this fine publication, but it’s been so hectic that I don’t even have the time to sufficiently thrill you with a proper Twincident.

However, I do have the time to play you a thematically-relevant song on a baby toy.

Here, in Twinfamy’s first-ever musical performance, is Yours Truly rocking the seminal opening riff of The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction”…on a Baby Einstein Count and Compose Piano.

Forgive me for not working out the whole song. I only have five notes in my arsenal with this particular instrument.

. . .

Fortunately, the week is almost over. I have no doubt that the smoke will soon clear, and the elusive Satisfaction will be re-gotten. In the meantime, the Twinfants and I will be here in the playroom, dancing our cares away, just like they used to do down at Fraggle Rock.

Join us?

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You may also enjoy:

The Butthead Butterfly Effect   Born to Rock   Eating the System

If not, perhaps you should take our dancing-away-of-cares invitation more seriously.