It's definitely blue beach-ball time around here.
I bet you all know what I'm talking about and I bet you all have had the experience of bemusedly shaking your head, sighing with nigh frustrated affection, at the antics of those around you who bring home the blue beach ball that they naturally coinsider tyo be the best thing ever and always (I left my typos in because I liked them).
And what's not to like, really? It's round with a rubbery skin and filled with air. It's bouncible and playful.
Things can get scary though. I once heard of a woman drowning her own children rather than let them be tortured by blue-beach ball Death Collectors.
Of course, that was back in the forties, and to-day blue beach balls are generally deemed something like soma that's okay for kids. Kids even.
Sure, you get the popping accidents now and then. But it's kind of inhuman to deny anyone their basic right to blue beach balls, so whatta you gonna do?
. . . okay.
I'm gonna go for broke.
I'll just say it . . . I DON'T GET IT. WHAT IS SO FRELLING GREAT ABOUT THE BLUE BEACH BALL??!!
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