It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah; any

[satire]

Before McDonald’s I bet "don't buy cheeseburgers from a clown" was a pretty hard and fast rule “Nice to meet you, Pot,” he says, “since we’re sharing nicknames, you can call me Satty.” A less elegant nickname, to be sure, spawned somewhere years ago when I, the doleful narrator, was trying to be cutesy, and when my sense of humor wasn’t as evolved, or something. He cocked his head at her, trying to decipher the puzzle she presented – he wasn’t the most emotionally intelligent man (or the most any kind of intelligent, let’s be real), but he did understand she was being a little shady, shifting her head. The same lame leg was now cocked, and he notes this, feeling very wise and detective-ly, as if he was Sherlock Holmes, or as if he had a concept of who Sherlock Holmes was. “Why not?” he asks, “I’ve come to join this cool herd I’ve heard about.” Heard, herd. He laughs to himself. Sometimes he’s so freaking hilarious. But he is serious, again. She might be hurt. “Are you hurt?” he asks. Smooth, Satty. Real smooth.