On Bambi, Whistling, and Bambi Whistling
... impact on me. My generation didn’t have rules, because we didn’t have parents. We had black house-sitters pop in a tape for us (VHS). Now I have the attention span of a Kansas U. applicant and the family values of Pat Robertson. Because of my childhood, and that of everyone else, the Western world is in a bit of a bind. We’re so rich we have to pay for someone else to think for us (hence my application). Oh well, our loss. I can’t whistle, and it sucks like 4 asses. Seriously, think about it—you take it for granted don’t you? You shouldn’t. Learning to whistle tops a list of trades I can’t wait to learn when I go to college. My friend can make this interesting clicking noise with the back of his throat. I can’t even whistle. Imagine my fee...