And I can’t actually say anything about it.
This is why I could never be a spy. I would walk around telling everyone that I knew stuff I couldn’t tell them. I might even play 20 questions so that they could guess that Putin dressed up like a fairy complete with pink tissue paper wings on days he was especially tough or that he loved the feel of silky ballet slipper ribbons tied around his pixie-like ankles when ordering “Phasers set to kill”.
Shit, I probably shouldn’t have said that. I might be poisoned. It’s like Stephen King. Don’t fuck with Stephen King or you end up dead from “Natural Causes” at 43 or in my case 36. I love Stephen King. I can’t read his books because I’m a total wuss and some PG-13 movies are too scary for me, but you’ll never hear me say a bad word about Mr. King.
So, yeah. I have a secret and I can’t say anything.
This blog might be boring for a while.
Yes or no questions only, please because I really can’t say. It’s a secret.
Is it one week?
Can I check back in one week and you’ll have told us your secret?
Can I ask more questions until then.
No. Sorry, Sparky has officially tied my fingers together in an attempt to shut my mouth.
In other news, Sparky’s news clip was on last night on ZDF. We got exactly 2 hours notice. He was great. I’m so proud of my expert. AND they used my mouth in the background. Why is this good? Well, for one, my mouth is always open. A very good example for word-of-mouth marketing. I can’t keep it shut to save my life. See above. But also, they didn’t show my period stained pants.
And kennedy121, I mean trousers or slacks. I was not running around being filmed for a news program in my underwear.
Why are “pants” underwear in the GB? What are they called in Australia? Is this different in New Zealand?