Awed It

Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall. Take them down and pass them around because everyone should drink from their own damn bottle. You wouldn’t want to get Ebola or something from sharing bottles. I’ll share a few as in some for me and some for you. I’ll share a six pack. I’ll even share a twelve or a case but I’m not sharing a bottle. You lip it you own it. Now whiskey ……. I’ll have to think about. Whiskey is strong enough to kill the germs so I may take a swig. Though I prefer shots. Sipped out of a half pint jar so I can smell it. I think whiskey smells better than it tastes. That’s why you want a broad bottomed glass to sip it out of. A jar top keeps not too much spirit from escaping. Whiskey in the jaro. But it doesn’t take ninety nine whiskeys like it does beer. Half that many will do.

Agent Ninety Nine. Tell the truth, the only reason you watched Get Smart was to get a look at the great gams on the Control agent called Ninety Nine. And to see the last door close on Maxwell Smart’s nose on the opening bit. Or was that the closing bit. All I know is cell phones don’t have to be hidden inside the shoe anymore. But that doesn’t mean agent Eighty Six won’t still show up in your trash barrel. Not as a disguise any more (or less) but more likely as a miner for your information. At least the information they can’t scoop up off the airwaves that our wireless lives emit outward in all directions. Agent Ninety Nine is probably an old hag like Hillary nowadays but I’ll bet they have an agent Nine Nine Nine that’s dressed to the nines.

Ninety nine words on the page? That was so two hundred words ago that it’s not even real like, ya know? No seriously this is my ninety ninth post here on Cocreator’s New Blog. While you’d think I would not have anything lefty to say after maybe the fortieth or fiftieth post you wouldn’t really know me then. It takes ninety nine shots to shut me up. I’m not talking about shots at writing a blog post, there may be no upper limit on that, I’m talking shots of rye. And I’m not talking near as fast and hard as after about half that many shots. Before rye shuts me up it frees my tongue. And sometimes imprisons my soul. Even body and soul on occasion. But whom amongst us can’t confess that? Which is in the end I guess what this blog is all about. My confession. That makes you dear readers my confessors. I only wish I didn’t need more than one.

I’m just saying …….

Cc

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