Which Reminds Me

Yes, I vaguely remember during our journalism program, what was the name of that black man in our class who was speaking rhapsodically about the Louis Farrakhan movement. Machelle Bush probably would remember more about that than I ever could think of. So under free speech rules you may say whatever you want about that, but even so people will have their diverging opinions about that. 

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I vaguely remember thinking that I really would prefer to carefully sidestep this meticulously staged conflict on the topic of rare and quixotic vulgarities and the various permutations of this type of verbosity, which was served to me on a platter of unsavory dog food. As the Bible says, the poor you have with you always. There probably always will be that certain type of neurotic whacko who obsesses unceasingly on these obscure points that may or may not be found in the dictionary. Sometimes when some guy in high school is heard rolling of a lot of strange words he can be documented by dictionary definitions and written off accordingly, silently, which is what I did, he was definitely not my type. But sometimes we just cannot know what they are talking about, especially if some unknown language is in use. Also, it sort of depends on your personal tastes and preferences. Some people are just tacky and tasteless by nature. You would always introduce training on what not to say, but neither will I be signing any premature contract giving away the farm to some unknown riff-raff for no reason whatsoever.  

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I vaguely remember that during our childhood we had a record player and several records, and one of those records our mother told us that we were not allowed to listen to because the music was sort of rock-and-rollish, a jarring sound at the time. However, on at least a handful of occasions we did listen to that record, probably when my parents were gone somewhere for the evening. It was called "Alley Oop" and it was a collection of songs about ancient cave-dwellers. It was meant as a humorous look at cave dwellers, but, yes, the humor was not really that amazingly funny. Only the one line sticks in the mind, "Alley Oop-Oop Oop Oop-Oop," but beyond that it is not very memorable. 

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I vaguely remember way back when, some people were boasting that they are getting all the money, so that meant that we just got nothing. Oh, thanks. So that means nothing at all. 

And then later I noticed that the bomber rockers think that they have everything, and everybody else has to just sit there and watch their lunatic show, because only they get the money. Which means basically that we get nothing at all and we have to sit there and listen to their version or eality, which means basically nothing for us, and we did not even know who are those people. Only later do we learn that one of them is a Wilson, who knows how they would be connected to the other Wilsons. So basically all that means is that we just get nothing. So what about that?  

Which Reminds Me

Yes, thanks, but I really cannot foresee any need on my part to renounce when I can spell 'enounce' clearly enough, having recently noticed this point. However, the powers that be might not like it if I go around dispensing cheapskate solutions to persons who have not really done the extensive research and/or reading already on my plate, not to mention what I might find later on this side of heaven, assuming I live long enough to find something else they forgot to mention. 

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I vaguely remember having read a book about a KGB agent, but I have completely forgotten what was the title of that book. What was the author's name? Why don't you ask the Sanchez family why they are keeping this lurid spy book, and what did that mean to them, because although I read it after Carol handed it to me along with some cryptic comments about that, I really have no thought of who those people in the book might have been or whether that had any historical significance. As someone online was reminding me, the Balzac was similarly terrifying although fictional. Apparently the bourgoisie of 19th century Europe were quite a ubiquitous literary force in their day.    

Which Reminds Me

Yes, I always hate it when people try to tell me what I think, as if they could read my mind or some ridiculous thing like that. I actually was not thinking about that, but if you want to wear a sign on your forehead labeling yourself as Hitler, well, that is your choice to make. I actually have no thought of that.