I collect excuses. I steal the best ones and place them in my files. My favorite excuse for murder is the Twinky defense. Too much sugar. I cherish excuses from politicians, wacko celebs and the Catholic Church.
It's usually someone else interfering with one's schedule that leads to lateness, right? I also collect alibis. Frankly, my friends need all they can get. If a detective asks where you were on a certain night, a good answer is I was out collecting excuses.
I notice you dozed off during this blog. What's your excuse?
The five best excuses for being late:
I accidentally sliced off my fingertip chopping onions and it rolled under the stove.
A flash flood destroyed my porch deck.
Aunt Irma fell out of a helicopter and I'm her emergency contact.
I mistakenly rubbed Crazy Glue under my pits instead of deodorant and my arms are stuck to my body
I was traumatized watching Joan and Melissa Rivers reality show.
There is no excuse for you not reading my blog or purchasing my book, Twilight People-Switchblade Stories, unless you blew your spending money on the Three Stooges movie.
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