What snoo, what snot

Man it is such as crazy to have the dreams that I have sometimes when I dream. The other night I watched the Superbowl, er, sorry, “big game,” but it was played by cats. Cats wearing adorable little leather football helmets. And omg last night Australia was in the wrong place. It was sort of between Africa and India. And that is not where Australia really goes, but I flew over it on my way to India. Hello, hello Australia! You might not want to sit in the front of the vehickle, as we will be heading down this steep track, and it is made of rickety wooden rails. Also I dream (a’lot) about confusing the gas pedal and the brake pedal. Peddle. Petal.

Internet, you had best stop reading things you find in the computer. They make no sense! Only look for pictures of Lindsay Lohan appearing skeletal. Dear New York Times Ombudsman: I have a good article for you to make. It is called “Blogs Suck; Go Outside.” But you will probably just run another article about how knitting is great, and people like to buy real estate. If you need a list of other things to cover, heah I am.

Never have I been so glad to live in a time where I can just “dial up” the computer and find out that a woman might not like the haircut she has received. And maybe she got her period on her birthday. Them’s the breaks. Brakes. And this guy, maybe this guy he had thoughts about Star Wars. I bet he did, that guy. Someone else has a dog. That’s good, we need more of that. I like dogs. “Blogs” should be written only from the perspective of housepets. My cat says “I am so gay 4 these new brewer’s yeast and garlic treats ugly no-tail mommy got me.” Tale.

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