Brian sang the song like a proud peacock. Like a proud peacock with an oversized, black, fuzzy hat. Most people though his “pride” originated from his hat (much like Samson and his “hat of hair”). One day his hat grew so big that in engulfed him and swallowed him up completely. You would think there was a good “moral” to this story, but I just can’t think of what it would be?
I entered the “polka lifestyle” under the mantra…
It’s all just fun and games.
…then when the pain hit I began to see the tuba and the fancy polka trousers as my escape. Yes, there were times I felt like they were speaking aloud saying…
It’s ok, we will make it all better. Medicate your pain with Polka.
Forgive my weakness when I fall to the lure of Polka music. And find myself right back where I swore I would never go again! Darn you, Polka… darn you to the depths of the earth!
I carry the cross daily. It is not a burden. It is a joy and a privilege. We installed a 4 inch lift kit, hydraulics and a popcorn maker. My gardener does most of the “carrying” when people are not around. I hope the immigration department doesn’t send him back to the Dominican.
Call me old fashioned… but to me a “real man” is the kind that opens doors for ladies, dresses well from head to toe, whistles as he walks down the street and has a few “robotic parts” that can really make him run super fast or punch thru doors or thin walls. That’s just the way my mother taught me.