Comments 2

Jsut one look…

I jsut attempted to type the word ‘just’ into my browser, as a shortcut for getting to the blog; but I was a-poundin’ them there keys way too fast.
When you’re as shatteringly quick a typist as I am, this sometimes happens…

“Fastest four fingers in the west”* is what they (sometimes) refer to me as.
You have my permission to shorten it to “the 3-effs” – if typing like the wind isn’t really your thing… like it is mine.

“They” also refer to me as quite a few other things, as well. But this being a family blog and all, we’ll jsut hold off on those other sobriquets, with which I’ve sometimes been rather unjsutly tarred.

Anyway, I was going jsut entirely too fast (way too fast) – but without the requisite focus for such lightening-like speed. And I, somewhat understandably, mispronounced my fingers all over the keyboard, resulting in the somewhat minorly incorrect, and also rather ridiculous appearance of the word ‘jsut’. Not realizing my mistake, I hit enter, and the search engine’s number-one hit was the Urban Dictionary’s entry for said ‘jsut’…

Having never before made a mistake when typing (it’s true, you know – Mavis Beacon has been after me for years to teach her my method) – I say, I was completely unfamiliar with the concept. But I found it rather fortuitous that the thing I’d entered should turn out to be a derogatory term for someone who does what I’d jsut done.
It’s almost like going to hit a nail with a hammer, but hitting your finger-nail, instead.
No… that’s not it.
Actually, it’s more like…
Well, now, appropriate comparisons aren’t exactly leaping to the forefront.
I’m kinda at a loss.
Perhaps it’s a bit like this:
Imagine, if you will, someone named Speed Racer, competing against other drivers at a high rate of velocity, while hopped-up on goof balls, all while being filmed with a high ISO film, while also being abreast of current developments, or up to spee… well, you get the idea.
Not that that really does the concept jsutice, either…

Maybe it’s jsut my imagination, running away with me.
Maybe we can keep this jsut between us.
Jsut you and me… simple and free…

Some might relish the irony of the situation.
Some might relish the absurdity of it all.
Some might jsut go ahead and slather that relish all over a hot dog.

You call it irony.
I call it Sarah dipping’ Dee.

Let’s call the whole thing off.

* It’s not that I’m the victim of some horrible industrial accident, which has left me only the four fingers (but with two heads, six eyes and one ear; so it all sort of evens out), or that my fingers are so gosh-darned fat, it only takes four of them to completely cover the keyboard… it’s not even that I turn into seven feet, 1000 pounds of unfettered green fury every time someone has the unmitigated temerity to pound-out a document faster than I can.
I jsut never learned to type.

Sorry, Mr. Carlton.


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