Sunday, November 4, 2007

I, Anagram

Crap is ill; that’s me, and I craps ill, or at least I used to. G, I am nil ill scrap, in my fullness; and I limp in slag, Carl. Larry says he doesn’t want to know who Carl is. I say he’s my back-door man. Poor Carl. Well, we don’t have a back door anyway, and Carl is merely four rearranged letters out of fifteen.

But I really am a small, ailing crip. That discovery made my day. I just had to share it.

2 comments:

  1. 'Scilla:

    This post was a fabulously light but nonetheless enigmatic doorway for me into your quirky, quick-witted and, dare I say it, slightly queer baby blogorama. I love this site, and love you for rolling mine! I shall return the favor PDQ!

    ReplyDelete
  2. "I craps ill"? "Small, ailing crip"?

    Sounds like you're going gangsta on us, homegirl!!! :D

    Long time no see! Have a wonderful Christmas!

    - Thomas Overbeck
    www.TimesLikeThis.com (yes, I FINALLY have a comic strip going)

    ReplyDelete

 
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