120 Days of Soda
by Will Bailey
Got any pop? That’s slang for “soda” just in case you are keeping score. Speaking of which, what exactly are you keeping score of? Odd vernacular? That’s not even a game. That’s more like a strange obsession that borders on anti-social behavior. I mean, what kind of person spends all their time keeping tally of every unusual vocab word that wanders into their bodily orbit? An agitator, that’s what. And I’m not about to get blacklisted by Big Blog for suspected harboring of agitators. That’s the kind of negative attention that can ruin a man. A man who isn’t otherwise bothering anybody and only wants to write jokes and draw pictures of himself making stupid faces. Well, more like a man-boy. A man that looks like a boy but is really a man. Wow, I am sounding extra crazy today! Maybe it’s all those diet sodas I’ve been putting back at work. They’re free, plus they give me plenty of energy, what with all the caffeine and unpronounceable chemical ingredients and sitch (read: “such” as spoken by a wily gold prospector). If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the questionable ingredients in those things are messing with my Four Bodily Humors. Sure, I could go without Phlegm, but just one tiny tweak to my Blood, Black Bile, or Yellow Bile Humors, and I am completely insufferable! Just a real cranky old coot. Thank goodness I don’t know any better, eh? Eh? EH??? Pass me that can of soda.