So I got this book-of-the-month-club offer the other day, and it was addressed to "Mr. Amith Beardlen." Yeah, it was wrong on three fronts. First and last names--wrong. Also, I am not a man. But that's ok, oh wee office administrator. Typing and transferring names into never-ending excel spreadsheets is not what god put you on this glorious green earth to do. And I get that, and I just want you to know that I get that. I'm not mad. And by not only getting my gender wrong with the "Mr", but taking it a step further and inserting the word "beard" --you made me chuckle. You are a clever one. I get you, I get you inside and out. You are a bright shiny star whose brilliance has yet to be discovered. And obviously this fascist book-of-the-month club doesn't get that about you. But I do--you are so much better than this adminofascist banality you have unwittingly become a slave to. So this one's for you, office administrator/data entry clerk. (as set to the tune of Poison's "Every Rose Has Its Thorn"):
We both lie silently still
in the dead of the night
Although we both lie close together (symbolically)
We feel miles apart inside (because you're in Indianapolis)
Was it something I said or something I did
(Did my name sound funny to you)
Though I tried not to hurt you
Though I tried
But I guess that's why they say
Chorus:
Every snowflake is special
Just like every night has a star
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every snowflake is special
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