Friday, November 11, 2005

Laundry Basket Bobsledding: Goofball's Tail

Okay, I want to set the record straight. Now, I don't disagree with anything Wagsy said per se, but I wanted to provide an alternative history. You know, not HIS-story, but MY story. I suppose I'm a him too, but providing another perspective will help the reader understand how events transpired.

So we're all lounging. Just chillin' in the bed and shooting the breeze. Out of the blue, Wagsy gets all antsy and starts pushing for an activity. Now I wasn't opposed to doing something, but I was perfectly happy doing nothing before Wagsy's mandate. I'm willing to go along with the plan, but I want to know what is going down first. Trouble was, Wagsy was all declaration and no details. He didn't know what we should do, just knew that we should do something. My initial proposal of burying Wagsy in blankets was rejected, so I suggested laundry basket bobsledding.

Now everyone seemed to like this suggestion and I'm thinking we're going to have some fun. I suppose we did, but I didn't anticipate how the fun would be distributed. Guess where they sat the idea man? You know, the good looking genius who came up with the idea of laundry basket bobsledding in the first place. Where'd I sit? The back. Yup, the back of the bobsled. So I didn't get the wind in my face or an unobstructed view as we went down the mountain. And, who pushes the bobsled the longest? That's right, the person in the back. So here I come up with a good idea and end up pushing all those useless piles of polyester down the mountain. And when a sled is going downhill, what direction do objects travel relative to the sled. You got it -- the back. Everything seems to be going okay, but the next thing I know the bunny is jumpin' ship and a big mess is headed my way.

I'm not saying the other bears are out to get me. I'm not paranoid or anything. I'm just pointing out that I am not getting the respect I deserve from my peers. I know Wagsy loves me and he's my bud. But to paraphrase a blond 1950s icon: I got the fuzzy end of the lollipop.


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