I am one of President George W. Bush's gardeners. Mr. George likes to talk to me.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

Fortunate Escape

One minute, I was standing at a magazine kiosk; the next minute, I was trapped inside a small box, wondering why my head was spinning and why I was wearing a black leather jumpsuit. I tried to shout, but the red ball in my mouth prevented me from doing so. I thought I was blind for a few hours, until a dim ray of light entered the tiny air hole. I don't need to go into the details of my experience for several reasons, but suffice it to say that I escaped and have now returned to my gardening chores.

One question: Why would any tailor omit the seat when sewing a pair of pants? This type of clothing makes no sense to me whatsoever.


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