The Key is…

It was a typical Saturday afternoon in Blacklick. The day had gone well – I had entertained a number of guests with some of my uproarious tales, a short self-penned one act opera, and a round of polo using burros instead of horses.

[caption id="attachment_1530” align="alignnone” width="425”] The classiest entertainment for the classiest people[/caption]

After having one of my many servants clean the burro “leavings” from the polo field, we began setting up for the afternoon games – we mainly play lawn darts. The neighbors complained after their poodles went missing, but I informed them that there was no way I could hit a poodle in their lawn from my lawn because I have tried on a number of occasions but we were bear baiting last weekend and the bear got out and I hid under my car for an hour so I’m not really sure what happened to the poodle.

[caption id="attachment_1532” align="aligncenter” width="425”] Does this thing play Spellicopter?[/caption]

Long story short of it, we were rudely interrupted when the neighbor with the missing poodles brought over a misdelivered, but clearly addressed, package. I opened it and, to my surprise I found a strange key sealed in a clear material. With a note from my good friend, Lord Trololo of Ozar. I tried to open it with my hands, but it wouldn’t budge.

[caption id="attachment_1533” align="aligncenter” width="425”] This is less than flattering, but I need that key![/caption]

I must have the key. It was taunting me, humiliating me in front my guests.

[caption id="attachment_1534” align="aligncenter” width="425”] I’m sorry it’s had to come to this, key.[/caption]

When I finally opened the key, I found that it was a device of the USBs. Knowing that Lord Trololo frequently listens to the melodies of Lady Gaga, I attempted to plug my stereophonic headset into the USBs key that he had sent me. ALAS, TWAS NOT MEANT TO BE!

[caption id="attachment_1535” align="aligncenter” width="425”] Nary a bad romance to be found[/caption]

Thank you, BrentO. I wish I could be at TechEd to trololo with you. It was not meant to be… this year.