It’s November, Charlie Brown. Outside forces continue to vex, astound. Inside forces also unfavorable.
We were supposed to do a final walk-through of our new place today, but someone at the mgmt company who misplace’s apostrophes decided to yank that football away. The unit is probably stacked clear to the ceiling with stray your’s and your’es. Some teamsters need to be hired to take care of the mess. A hose might work. Theoretically, we will go next week instead. This is really all a grand delusion.
Where is my tropical island? If I’m going to have a delusion, I’d like to put in for a better one. More calypso, please. Oil my flanks, cabana boy!