The rantings, musings, tangents and misadventures of life that come from the heart through the misty filter of insomnia. There's also a lot of music involved.
Snausages: So, an E-flat, a G-flat, and a B-flat walk into a bar.
Snausages: And the bartender says,
Snausages: "I'm sorry, we don't serve minors."
Myke: That struck a chord.
Snausages: Careful with those puns, you'll get in treble.
Myke: But they're key to my humour.
Myke: And very noteworthy.
Posted by Insane Insomniac at Monday, August 13, 2007
1 comment:
and that makes you my mate
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