Gliding like a whale

You know we got nuffin when we post pictures of dogs all week. Could it be that Lambchop and I are both happy for once? I feel like I am doing a gentle backstroke in Prozac-infused molasses, and I’m not even *taking* any drugs. When we go out, we spend our time doubled over with laughter, not shaking fists and gnashing teeth. It reminds me of how we used to ooze around Boston in an addled fog lo these many years ago. What’s next, staring for hours at the Amtrak ticketing kiosk in South Station because the music sounds like Peter Murphy? Yes, that exactly! Please join us.

The only thing’s that really bother me these day’s are poor punctuation and the state of the US government. No biggie! I got a call from the Kerry campaign looking for volunteers, so I think I’ll traipse in and shuffle paper at HQ a few days a week. Maybe I can finally master mail merge, for G– and country. I am not sure I am up for door-to-door in New Hampshire, as everyone in that state is issued a gun. This could be just the push I need to finally learn target shooting. There is a range right down the street; I could run over while the laundry is in the dryer.

I love you, man!


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