I read somewhere that there’s a movement and websights trying to make sure people pronounce it “twenty ten” and not “two thousand ten” since it will save you ONE GOD DAMN SYLLABLE, and God knows how many crucial twitterings and texts we could spend those extra milliseconds on if we would just call it”twenty ten” every time. I mean, in retrospect maybe if we had been saying “twenty one” instead of “two thousand one” for that whole year maybe we would’ve had time to look into that intelligence briefing about Osama bin Laden determined to carry out attacks inside the United States.
Sorry, I don’t buy it. In protest I will only and always refer to this year by its full Christian name, TWO THOUSAND AND TEN, THE YEAR WE MAKE CONTACT.
Happy New Year everybody.
January 1st, 2010 at 1:49 am
For hours now, I’ve been informing folks something to the effect that, this year, we here individuals, we shall make contact.
They didn’t listen.
Which is why it’s a quarter to four and I’m rocking out to Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry,” and thinking, lace panties aside, it’s time for Cheers reruns.
It is always time for Cheers reruns.
Happy new year, bitches.
I love this planet.