Ch-ch-ch-changes

Today ybab celebrates eleven months of mostly breathing. She made a valiant attempt to chew up my British Airways Illuminati Perks membership card. That sucks! Without it, I can’t go up to the cockpit and sit on the captain’s lap while being misted with water extracted from volcanic springs with a crystal eyedropper. Did you know the co-pilot is actually a donkey? Little known fact about BA. That card also ensures that I receive an i.v. drip of caviar and crissy. Makes any flight more tolerable.

In other news, we have decided to move back to civilization a-sap. I am preparing to lose a squillion dollars on the ol’ IBG. That assumes that someone wants to buy it at all. Perhaps no one wants to buy it. This would be a reasonable decision on no one’s part. I eagerly await throwing out the rest of everything I own that I haven’t managed to sell on eBay and beating a path back to Brookline or even thickly settled Somerville. Maybe we will nest in the rafters of the Ted Williams tunnel, dropping down on unsuspecting motorists and gleefully exsanguinating them. This is how legends are born.

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