I’m from Oklahoma, so there are a whole lot of things I don’t get, simply due to my DNA.
I don’t get electricity: how it works, how it knows where to go or how it can carry letters and photos and spam.
I don’t get why I am not hugely productive when within five feet of where I am sitting I have: laptop, smart phone, digital camera, digital video camera, digital tape recorders, phone/scanner/faxer, telephone headset, three external hard drives, a card reader-writer with no fewer than five holes and/or slots, a Crack Puppy and a stapler.
I don’t get how I could possibly take the video camera to the songwriting awards last night to video Junior, then decide to video everyone else’s kid, just to be safe, and then forget to monitor battery use until the thingy in the upper right hand corner went all RED AND FLASHING!
I don’t get how there can be “hundreds of hot young women” in “my city who want to meet me“, yet when I go to confession, I got *nothing to talk about.
I don’t get how I could be so very tired of the Moosedawg’s stinkiness and random poopiness, and general annoyingness, yet, almost three weeks after I had him put down, I think about him all the time.
I don’t get how a dippy Korean guy with no seeming talent can produce a video that is a) watched over 800 million times; b) earned him over $5 million from You Tube alone; c) makes me want to hit him repeatedly with a large wooden mallet.
I don’t get how an empty-nesting woman who had to be guilted into attending a niece’s Tupperware party can be totally sucked into the Tupperware Tractor Beam to the tune of $150 and 700 points.
I don’t get how America’s economy can be so screwed up it may never come right, yet squillions of Americans totally lose their minds at Black Friday sales, accumulating ever more debt and looking like such morons that the rest of the world just shakes its collective head.
I don’t get how there can be so many Australians when you consider that ever single animal, vegetable and insect in Australia can kill you stone dead.
I don’t get how Jerry Jones, destroyer of the once proud Dallas Cowboys, can walk in the open air without dozens of flour bombs, anvils, pianos and predator drones being dropped right on his big fat head.
I don’t get how you can get away with hiring your just-fired brother to be your take-charge, kick-arse Co-Defensive Coordinator, and let him keep his job and huge corner office even after he gives up no fewer than 97 points in the last two games.
I don’t get how, even though prisons are filled to the absolute brim with thieves and murderers, that we can’t make room for Jerry Jones and the Gangnam Style guy.
I guess some things are just not comprehendable.
I just get it.
* I mean about the lustful gorgeous women who want to meet me. Trust me. I have a LOT of other stuff to talk about.