The Ruffled Crow

Felis Bipedalis

In all too many ways digression is a standard part of my life anymore. The act of seeing the tangent and following it off into odd little alleyways is considered a given since not doing so would create a near intolerable urge. Something like meeting Mr Rogers when your balls begin to itch. Decorum warns against the sack grab but reality notes that you won’t be able to speak an intelligible word until you do. (Now, actual reality in this situation is that Mr Rogers won’t care any more now that he’s passed on, but if he hadn’t and you squirmed enough in your conversation he would quickly ask, in his soft and gentle way, if you had to use the restroom.) Read more of this post