I was about to sit down and write an award-winning essay about equality as
demonstrated in "Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. My outline
is outlined. My works are cited. My notes have been noted, and my mind was
focused.
Then I got a whiff of the ole body odor pouring off me and a glimpse of the "jus' rolled outta bed" hairdo I'm rockin' this morning. (What if Publisher's Clearinghouse stops by to give me my ten million dollars? You know they always film that shit.)
Sorry, Mr. Vonnegut. I simply must get in the shower. Priorities, you know.
Then I got a whiff of the ole body odor pouring off me and a glimpse of the "jus' rolled outta bed" hairdo I'm rockin' this morning. (What if Publisher's Clearinghouse stops by to give me my ten million dollars? You know they always film that shit.)
Sorry, Mr. Vonnegut. I simply must get in the shower. Priorities, you know.
