I went in and woke up Mark the other morning. This is what I found. Can ya tell what's on his head?
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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time, And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.
1 comments:
Looks like the poor little fella had a confusing dream with the Fruit of the Loom guys! Is that his underwear on his head?
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