Every Rose Has a Thorn

"Half-baked cookies in the oven, half-baked people on the bus...there's a little bit of fruitcake left in everyone of  us..."

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So yesterday I'm standing in the lunch line.  Minding my own business - as always.  And as I'm there waiting patiently, I realize that the cook passing out the chicken-pattie-on-a-bun is singing.  Outloud.  To himself.  He was singing everybody's favorite Poison song, "Every Rose has a Thorn." 

I stood there with an inquisitive look on my face.  "Are you kidding me?"

And as he hands me my marinated turkey tender, he looks me in the eyes - still singing - and with the voice of a young Bret Michaels croons, "...and every cowboy, sings a sad, sad, song." 

"Uhh...thank you," I responded. 

I was thinking about this again last night, out on my porch, in the dark, Pabst Blue-Ribbon in hand.  Some people are just freaks.  There's just no other explanation.