|
wry1, I commend you. Great minds think alike.
Life has taught me that a woman's "purse" (or to use a better term, her "shoulder-mounted luggage") is just a three-dimensional projection of higher-order dimensions that we men are unable to see. I know this because womens' purses always seem heavier than their size suggests, and are always bigger on the inside than on the outside. As a security mechanism, they seem to contain alternate pockets of reality, depending on the gender of the person fumbling through it - ie: a man is likely to not find whatever it is he was asked to find, and instead will run into other purses, a library of books, an antique cast-iron knitting machine, a family of small vicious animals, or the decaying bones of other unfortunate men foolish enough to journey within.
Life has taught me to stay the hell out, ESPECIALLY when they ask you to get something - its a trap!
__________________
You do not use a Macintosh, instead you use a Tandy
Kompressor break your glowstick, Kompressor eat your candy
Kompressor open jaws, Kompressor release ants
Kompressor watch you scream, Because Kompressor does not dance
|