#690 Unhinged

Life sucks then you die. But first there’s pain. Nothing funny here. Just thought that was a cool way to start an essay.
What is funny, as in odd, is that I need to find a way to turn off my unhinged and twisted brain.
The other day I was driving down the road and I saw this sign that said “We Don’t Serve Teens.” I immediately thought, is this a veal kind of thing? We don’t serve babies either, or even mature adults.
Because we aren’t cannibals!
So then, the song “Stacy’s Mom” comes on the radio. You know, the one that’s got it going on. The story of the teenager that’s hung up on his girlfriend’s mom. My first thought is, I wonder if Stacy’s mom was actually Jesse’s girl. And then, unhinged mother that I am, I think, what if Stacy’s mom was Mary Kay Letourneau? That teen got served a whole different sad song...
So then, someone tells me its 9 O’clock and my mind starts to whittle down that word. O’clock means of-the-clock. So what people are really saying is it’s 9 of the clock.
That means that at some time someone felt the need to specify. I mean it’s 9 right? Maybe 9 in the morning or 9 in the evening but either way it’s still 9.
Why do we need to stipulate from which method of time keeping we got our information? Was there once a big rivalry and the clock was deemed more or less suspect as to time accounting?
Well it’s 9 of the clock, but it’s 10 of the sundial.
Yeah, and according to the old hourglass its only 7:30, but it looks as if there’s a crack in it and some of the sand is coming out.
Time keeps slipping away doesn’t it?
Apparently, at some point in the past, the clock won out. But we still delineate the source of our measurement. Maybe we should modernize.
I look at the bottom right corner of my computer a lot. Should I say it’s 9 O’computer?
Or how about the timepiece that’s constantly serves our watchless teens.
It’s 9 O’cellphone...
America, ya gotta love it.