In Which Your Humble Blogger lives in hope, which is kind of an island in the rising ocean of shit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is could also write a whole note about the tragic waste of Liz Shaw, but it would just be a global replace for Martha Jones (or Yaz).
In Which Your Humble Blogger also thinks it's a little odd that baseball teams don't all have their own team songs.
In Which Your Humble Blogger supposes that there was only enough room on the shop's bar code label for 37 characters, not 38, but really, that e is silent, so why wouldn't you leave it off?
In Which Your Humble Blogger is downhearted, but there is hope.
In Which Your Humble Blogger overheard someone claiming to be the ninety-nine percent, and thought—hey, me too!
In Which Your Humble Blogger observes Memorial Day, 2019
In Which Your Humble Blogger played Barrymore's ghost, in the past.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has a point, but really, just, y'know, don't be an asshole.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is disappointed and afraid and has no sense at all of where to go from here.
