Those were the Days, my friend. The Days Between, my friend. Let us all dance in Berlin while night falls; let us have great hair and sing songs and rouge up our nipples while night falls over Europe. Those were the Days, my friend, the Days Betw–
Excuse me.
I’m singing. How dare you.
You know that song isn’t from Cabaret, right?
Really?
Go check.
…
It seems like it should be in Cabaret, though.
Granted, but still wrong.
Then how we will observe the seventh Day Between, which is dedicated to Garcia’s bitchin’ footwear?
Well, FoTotD and PWDNMUIUS (Person Who Did Not Murder Us In Our Sleep) Martin sent in that picture of Garcia’s Nikes, which might be bitchin’ were they not accompanied by black socks and the elastic garters of blue sweatpants.
Yeah, that’s a mess.
Forget the Persian: there should have been an intervention for that behavior.
Can we not bring up the Persian during the Days Between?
If it weren’t for the Persian, there wouldn’t be a Days Between.
Aw.
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