Quack
I heard some ducks flying overhead this morning, quacking. I imagine their conversation went something like this:
"Are you sure it's spring?"
"Well, my calendar said April."
"Your calendar stinks. Let's go back to
Dixoooooooonnnnn!
It's not unusual to get mail for someone who used to live in your place. But there is a Justin Dixon who is apparently out there giving our address as a current address, even though it's been 7 or 8 years since he's lived there. We try returning the mail, writing "He doesn't live here, stupid! Stop sending us his crap!" on the envelopes, but the insurance companies and bill collectors seem to think it's just a ruse and keep mailing his things to us. Needless to say, if I ever meet this joker I'll have to do something awful to him while I'm still temporarily insane.
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