What's next.
How about a bicycle tour around Scandinavia? They don't have any big hills there, do they? Oh. Okay, well ... how about Holland? Right. Too many stoned drivers. So I guess, by your logic, Colorado is the worst of all possible worlds for bike tours.
Yeah, well ... Lincoln didn't think that last comment was too funny, and apparently now he's determined to jump back into the past, where (arguably) he belongs ... even though in much of the past, he's dead. So I guess he's saying he'd rather be dead than spend another summer with Big Green. That's just plain sad, you know? I'm sure plenty of less revered ex presidents would be more than glad to spend the summer with us, rather than in some poorly defined version of America's past. But Lincoln does not count himself among that number.
So, it looks like pretty soon we'll be going down to the cobweb-choked basement of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our adopted home, and dusting off Trevor James Constable's orgone generating device - the only piece of technological instrumentation capable of putting Lincoln back where he belongs. I'm a little nervous about doing this in Mitch Macaphee's absence. He is, after all, our mad science advisor, and I hesitate to engage in the fraught discipline of mad science without his counsel. But ... my president has called upon me, and I must respond.
Have you stopped laughing yet? Good. I'll continue.
Part of the issue here is that we're just not sure what to do with ourselves, man. What the hell is next for Big Green? The bike tour idea was suggested by Marvin (my personal robot assistant), so that means we arrived at it almost entirely at random. I'm not sure who told us this (perhaps our first manager, way back in the day), but I'm pretty sure we've established that it's not a good idea to make major life decisions through any process that resembles random selection. We need to put on our thinking caps.
Caps on? Great. Think, Big Green, think. Get me your ideas by midnight Thursday. Or not. I'm easy.
Yeah, well ... Lincoln didn't think that last comment was too funny, and apparently now he's determined to jump back into the past, where (arguably) he belongs ... even though in much of the past, he's dead. So I guess he's saying he'd rather be dead than spend another summer with Big Green. That's just plain sad, you know? I'm sure plenty of less revered ex presidents would be more than glad to spend the summer with us, rather than in some poorly defined version of America's past. But Lincoln does not count himself among that number.
So, it looks like pretty soon we'll be going down to the cobweb-choked basement of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our adopted home, and dusting off Trevor James Constable's orgone generating device - the only piece of technological instrumentation capable of putting Lincoln back where he belongs. I'm a little nervous about doing this in Mitch Macaphee's absence. He is, after all, our mad science advisor, and I hesitate to engage in the fraught discipline of mad science without his counsel. But ... my president has called upon me, and I must respond.
Have you stopped laughing yet? Good. I'll continue.
Part of the issue here is that we're just not sure what to do with ourselves, man. What the hell is next for Big Green? The bike tour idea was suggested by Marvin (my personal robot assistant), so that means we arrived at it almost entirely at random. I'm not sure who told us this (perhaps our first manager, way back in the day), but I'm pretty sure we've established that it's not a good idea to make major life decisions through any process that resembles random selection. We need to put on our thinking caps.
Caps on? Great. Think, Big Green, think. Get me your ideas by midnight Thursday. Or not. I'm easy.
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