he’s just getting his feet wet at this blogging thing, and he’s got a decent wit, if I do say so myself.
So here I am in the spotlight. Everyone's expecting me to say something witty, now.
The rules are thus:
1. Pick up the nearest book and look at page 123.
2. Count to the fifth sentence.
3. Post the three sentences immediately following that fifth sentence, but not the fifth sentence itself.
Okay. So. In an apartment that looks like this
in one room and this
in the other, I should be able to hold out a bucket and shout "Here, book!" and a hefty tome of perspicacity and insight would come jumping in, right? Right!
.... Maybe I need a bigger bucket.
Oh, that's right. I'm a liberal. My books speak French. Duh!
Sacre bleu! Un nibble!
All right, page 123 ... fifth line ... next three lines:
"Sounded like you meant it to me."
"Perhaps. I was looking back to a time when I was only eight, before I found out what a pain life really is."
Hmmm. Kind of dull, really, but that's the rules. Pity. There are more interesting exchanges in the book, like
"Now, just tha' hold on, Dalziel! No bugger talks to me that way!"
It was there, the old Yorkshire accent, loud and sweet.
Dalziel stood back and said, "Ee bah gum, Art. It's grand to have thee back wi' real folk again."
Phonetics for the win!
Now I'm supposed to tap seven other people. I'm afraid I'm going to have to break the chain, here, because I don't know seven other bloggers well enough to tap them. Mom's already done it, and she's tapped Rabbitswift. I'm supposed to go on Pharyngula or Sadly, No! and demand they do this thing? I'm just a little fish, here.
So I am breaking the chain. Those chain emails you get always promise good things if you forward 'em on to ten people in the next 10 seconds, and dire calamity if you break the chain. I guess I'm screwed, then. I resolve to face my imminent spontaneous combustion and vast impoverishment with a grin and a set jaw in the manner of the two-fisted heroes of the pulps. Bring it on!