In what folds and crevices of the brain do these things reside: just now, out of nowhere, I began to sing under my breath
I'm Popeye the sailor man
I live in a garbage can
I love to go swimmin'
with bald-headed wimmen
I'm Popeye the sailor man

I'm not even a fan of Popeye, though I do like the way his muscles ripple after he has sucked in the spinach - the tattooed ship under full sail on his bicep begins to toss and pitch in the swells.

Go figure.

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