Todd Terwilliger

Comic Contemplations, Part 3

Sunday. The last day, the final hurrah, the end. I set the alarm early. We had stayed up too late last night watching The Wire. You simply cannot watch just one episode of The Wire. It gets on top of you too fast. Before you know it, the clock has jumped ahead six hours and you’re laying akimbo on your couch half-naked with a belt tied around your arm, held tight by one end, the end which is clamped between your gritty teeth. You’re looking down at a throbbing vein in your arm and you don’t know why.

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Wired

Something I learned today: don’t order a root beer at the Nancy Whiskey pub. I went to lunch there today with coworker Matt. I ordered a Diet Coke, a solid, dependable, honest drink. Matt ordered a root beer. He would not get it. Instead, from the bar came an incredulous reply, “Root beer!?! We don’t serve root beer!” He was appropriately shamed. It served him right.

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