Excel 2003 Power Programming NOW with VBA and Cannibals

“Let’s coalesce.”  It’s not often you hear that from your hairy mechanic as he lock grips your shoulder with his meaty hand at the brew pub on a particularly rainy early spring evening on a Thursday night, it’s trivia night which means $1 taps of the rather unpopular brown Swiss ale.  It’s not that bad until the tail end hits you in the back of the throat like the bile whisperer, a GI doc who has the knack for diagnosing acid reflux from the smell of your breath.  Your mechanic isn’t gay; especially if you’re a woman and not you nor him have had a sex change, although in the sex change equation it leaves the gallery fumbling around their mental faculties trying to understand how many variables there would be, who is the co-tangent or synovial wave?  Sine or co-sine? Up or Down? Gay or Not Gay?  What is the first derivative of heterosexuality?  It’s like trying to find which end is up on a bratwurst.

 

Back to your mechanic, his grip is not too tight, it’s quite nice as he messages your shoulder, he is a masseuse after all, he is more than a renaissance man, and he is a neo-Americano-imperialist with conservative fiscal ideals and liberal drinking policies.  What’s a beer fascist?  Drink when is ay drink, it’s the people’s beer.  If that’s the case then pour me some Colt 45, because they’re peasants.  I mean aren’t we truly at beef jerky Hamm’s  Flavorite frozen peas Roundy’s white bread canned meat and plastic enveloped flavored ice.  You can’t put Italian dressing on a sapling and call it nature’s gift.  There is no free food, even the rotten veggies they throw at the stocks, and you have to break the rules to get the man to toss you a freebie.  But it’s not free, the only free is the thought in your mind, but that’s not free, it’s not your own thought it’s the man who taught you to think…and then the man before him…and so on…we might as well have come from a canned of condensed mushroom soup.

 

Back to your mechanic as he slides his hand into your pants, it’s not just because he is curious, I mean who isn’t curious about where this blog post is going, I mean maybe only the mechanic knows for after all it is in his name, he’s gonna work your body right, he’ll fix you up with his pleasure tool.  I mean we all know that a pleasure tool is another name for a socket wrench.  We all know you wanted one for X-mas, but no one bought you one.  Injustice I say, no it doesn’t make up for plowing over a stuff weasel with your trike on the way home.  He will rise again as he cannot be killed Willy, owned by Margret age 3.  He and his gang of plush furry friends are gonna mess you up with a tire iron and some chocolate syrup because we all know when you got fuzz for brains you’re madder than an angroholic on steroids and wheatgrass juice.

 

Back to your mechanic as he charges you for parts and labor, I mean your parts and his labor.  You know he isn’t selfish, just look at how he drains the oil from your engine and then sends that oil to the orphanage, I mean it’ll just go to waste.  Angola, it’s here to stay.