I had something to say, O Best Beloved, but I forgot. Surely the proper procedure is to stop typing, but when I get a notion to type, I can’t help myself. Idle hands take up the devil’s work. It’s either this or knitting the scarf I just can’t finish. I feel like Christo whenever I pick it up.
Have you called your senator to whimper about the Supreme Court yet today? I normally prefer to keep my whimpering to the comfort of my own duvet, but we do what we can. This is a remarkably angst-free January, all serotonin levels, wiretapping, construction projects, and parasites considered. I think I’ve discovered that eating every twelve minutes is the solution to my myriad personal shortcomings. Well, at least I feel better about them. Not saying it actually fixes them. Perhaps it was never existentialism: I just wasn’t eating enough oatmeal. This looks like it could be Dick Cheney’s problem as well. Fiber, mon petit robot.
I feel bad for wishing it, but I hope that Cheney fucker dies and that his doctor blames his regular diet of tobacco bribes and fresh roasted babies.
Babies must have at least some kind of fiber in them?
AH AH AH, I REMEMBER MY LIVES AS BORDAR POTROL GARD, CHRISTO TRY CROSS FROM THAT BULGARIA TOO THAT, SERBIA!!! I PISTOL WIPP FOR FAN, THEN SAY GO YUOUR HAPPI WAY MR CHRISTO. HAPPIEST CAMP IN BARRACKS!!!
Yum yum yum: Your current link goes to Weight Watchers, which is featuring “Mexican Meatloaf (Freezer-friendly)”. Talk about Pavlovian!!
Remember all of those delicious, delicious CamplesSoupKitchen recipes?
I should clarify: your Gooooooooogle ad link. That’s wot i’ze talkin’ ’bout.
What would Roy Disney do?
David: Roy Disney would get rid of Michael Eisner. Or cryogenically freeze himself so that he could finish the scarf in the future.
Max: I should write about Shrimp Mold, now that you mention it.