01 December, 2005

We shall, indeed, rock you.

I sent the following chunkette as an email to several of my near and dear on October 28. It strikes me now as the kind of effluence that ought be tacked up on this tacky tacking board.

Let me take you back and set the scene: A week before, the White Sox had won the World Series, and delirium rather reigned 'round here, here and there. This was pooped out of my fingers as ticker tape rained.


As I sit in my office now, and hear Queen's "We Are the Champions" wafting up from the streets below, I am reminded of this morning's commute. Slogging through the gridlocked parade-happy molasses canyon of LaSalle street today, I thought of how incongruous it is that the ultimate Queen, faggy fairy Freddy Mercury's music has been co-opted by all of sports. It's stirring to see our butch south side brethren swaying to campy rock ballads.

We will, we will rock you, indeed.

Na na na na, hey hey hey,


I liked it then and I still like it now.
I think it’s a little disingenuous to post e-mails as blogs... I mean, I've heard of laziness but come on.
J. : Thank you, as always, for kindness.

gazoo, you anus: Just shut up, and bask in the effulgence of my lambent wit.
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