Dre-Dre, I don't have time to talk about your hair, man. I'm at work. Do whatever you want with it; I'm busy. You know I have a public to inform.
And the second I sit down to start informing, banging out the funny like I'm Bob Ross with a pen, my office phone starts ringing.
"Adam, we want you to appear on celebrity poker."
"Adam, Hickenlooper here, need to talk to you about light rail real quick when you get a chance."
"Adam, I got the test back, you broke-ass, lying-ass son of a bitch. She's definitely your daughter."
Enough is enough! I mean, I haven't even had the time to figure out a decent Halloween costume, and now I have to pick one for this "daughter" of mine?
So if you wonder why I haven't addressed the issue of referenda C and D in this very column, it's not because I'm skirting the issue like some power-hungry president appointing a Supreme Court justice, but because of my multitudinous obligations. Plus, I don't really know anything about C and D. But here's what I do know: My peeps in Park Hill all seem to support them, and if liberal guilt is on the side of an issue, that's usually the right side to be on. Seems clear enough, but the faces lining up on opposite sides of C and D cloud the picture. Independence Institute president Jon Caldara (a man who boldly asked the question, "What if a used-car salesman were to head a think tank?") is against C and D, but Governor Owens (you know, the guy from the Worst Damn Sports Show Period) is all about them.
Kind of hard to pick a side, eh, comrades?
But I've never backed down from a difficult situation -- except for quitting the saxophone, Boy Scouts and the debate team -- and I'm not about to here. It's my duty to serve as a conduit to the public and 'splain these difficult issues. But since I'm just so busy right now, I outsourced the rest of this column to a guy in India. I think he's some sort of yogi. Enjoy.
A thousand greetings of rainbows to you, my friends, people of America's City of High Mile! Weather Channel say beautiful sunshine for you today, what joy! Things not as nice here today in Tuticorin. Rain for 27 days now, plus black rats of Madurai have returned, bringing plague and lesions to all. Oh, well, Internet available, plus Abrar still with four working finger, so not all is ruin! Referenda C and D, what highly suspectible issues! Careful to study with quizzical nature galore. Obvious contentions emanating from mysterious masked gentleman TABOR. Mr. TABOR say revenue of state must be chained to inflation, and rupees harnessed beyond limit shall be returned to average Sally and Jonathan Q. Owner of Homes. Vitamin C, with help from Tenacious D, kindly ask that rupees collected over limit be used for five-year span on health care, education, transportation, and pensions for men of fire and law. Abrar is no foolishness, though. Like you, he appreciates annual 72-rupee return of hard-earned income. With it Abrar buy one scalding-hot steam shower, spend rest on grain. Glorious luxuries for Abrar and fourteen little Abrars! But Abrar man of people. Infinite meditation in mountains of Karakoram, earnest discussion with Hanuman, monkey deity of courage, power and faithful, selfless service, teach Abrar put trust in government. I know, I know, government officials lurk in shadows. Abrar too has heard rumors of Owens's hidden child of love. But condition of schoolhouses for little Abrar's deplorable, rickshaw jumbles poison Tuticorin thoroughfares and barely enough men of fire and law to protect citizens from poisonous fire-stings of Calicut wasps, who bombard the groin and eyes. You see what I'm sneaking at here, my main man? Plus, wouldn't kill Abrar miss out on one year-end shower, and probably only kill minimal little Abrars miss out on year-end grain. Hope helps!
So that should pretty much clear things up for you. I know it did for me. And remember, when you're headed to the polls -- oh, hold on a second, I'm getting a text message. Oh, Jesus H! Melo and LaLa are fighting. Again. Sorry, but this is gonna take a while
