A.D.D.ing it on a Sunday

If you were talking to me at any point on Sunday afternoon or evening, there is a 90 per cent chance that I was half paying attention to what you were saying.

However, there is a 10 per cent chance that while you were talking, the following thoughts were floating through my brain:
  • I could understand it if aliens just walked into a bar one day and assumed the word “Bacardi” had many definitions: bar napkin holder, T-shirt, wet T-shirt. I’d probably think the same thing myself.
  • One conversation I had on Sunday reminded me of a joke I had made to myself, long, long ago: If your last name is “Rogers,” then your porn name is automatically “Butt Rogers”.
  • The football ticker read: “Browns 7 Pittsburgh 27 – receiving, Pit: Washington, 67 Yards”. And, being the immense Redskins fan that I am, I immediately thought, “Well, that’s probably the last time this season I’m to see ‘Washington’ and ‘Win’ in the same sentence.”
  • Standing outside a bar and smoking a cigarette, I couldn’t help but notice the black filters on the air conditioners in the windows of the building across the street and thinking, “Wow, it’s like a bunch of robots are mooning me.” And then I started to compose the screenplay for “Robot Fraternity” in my head.
  • Are you dispensing soap or are you giving a robot a handjob? You be the judge.
  • Why this sudden popularity for Stella Artois? Does Paul Giamatti have a new film I don’t know about?
Today’s lesson: The definition for “bright, shiny thing” is rapidly expanding in the world of Hot Johnny.

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