With apologies to George Gershwin: white man — particularly this one — can’t sing the blues.
With apologies to the listener: it’s rough and ready, words written and the four parts recorded in about an hour and a half. And I can’t sing the blues. Or even sing.
With apologies to Augustana; this comedy cover was put together in just four hours, so it’s a bit rough around the edges. But even I sound like Coldplay now.
The day started like any other in that it started completely unlike any other day has previously. While the alarm clock played its merry chimes and sleep began to ebb away to consciousness, I was aware of a brief inner struggle: The Driven immediately reached for his glassine whip; The Computer Scientist rolled over and pulled the sheets over her head; The Compassionate remembered that there was a parcel waiting at the Post Office; The Director and The General voiced concern at my overall lack of motivation.
