Oh, I got secrets alright.
I got secrets coming out of my yin-yang and I don't even know what that really means.
That's no secret by the way, I googled it and nobody really knows.
Ok I lied, I didn't google it, I bing'd it. Because my browser bin
(more)gs before it googles and I'm kinda in a hurry.
I'm going down the shore this morning, or when I finish writing this, whichever comes first. Yeah, I know, that bodes well for this trigger.
(shut up Muse, go back to sleep, it's early here on the east coast)
Remember Password? The game show? You know, where they give you clues and you have to guess the secret word?
I am not old. Shut up.
Secrets can be a useful tool if you ever feel the need to blackmail someone. Not that I'm condoning blackmail, but it can come in handy if say, you know some really juicy secrets about somebody who, for example, teaches kids yet sends naked pictures of herself to other people's husbands.
Not that I know any secrets like that because if I did I would be morally obligated to inform authority-type people.
And I have no time for that, I have beaches awaiting my arrival.
In New Jersey which, yes indeed truly does exist despite the doubting JJ's-err, I mean doubting Thomas's (Thomasi?) of the world.
Not that I'm conspiring theories or anything like that, but I'm not touching that Birth Certificate thing with a 10-foot pole. I'm leaving that one to Jerry Garcia. And possibly Ted Nugent.
Not for me to reveal secrets of any kind, regardless of who they belong to.
Ok, I'll give you one of my own.
I love doughnuts.
But we don't have Top Pot doughnuts in New Jersey.
So I'm doughnut-less.(less)
