I never thought I’d say it, but emo girls are hot.
Sexist? Objectifying? Demeaning to the struggle of women for equal rights and recognition? No, I’m just saying.
Flying Pink Elephants
Flying Pink Elephants
Robinson’s Galleria, August 24, 6:00 PM
“Imagine a pink elephant flying in circles,” I told her once.
“I don’t understand,” she replied. “It’s a cute idea, but there’s no such thing.” We were somewhere in that grove of pine trees talking about life in general – random things – when I brought the subject up.
“Ever hear of Horton? Hut saw ruh, hut saw ruh, and a so and so and so forth…”
“Not really. You should start growing up and stop thinking about silly stuff and nonsense like pink elephants. And stop singing that song.”
An awkward moment of silence ensued.
“Just imagine.”
“I’ll remember you and your silly pink elephants.”
That Thrashing Feeling
That Thrashing Feeling
Life doesn’t spare you from that thrashing feeling.
Never mind the anaesthesia, or the legality or efficacy of the lobotomy. I’ve always imagined lobotomies to be a thrashing feeling. I could imagine the patient – insane and demented as he may be – strapped to the operating table or the chair, and the doctors and nurses start poking things inside your head.
