Behind you! It’s a friend request!
In Which Your Humble Blogger thought he had some sort of point, but rambled too long and lost it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger thought he had some sort of point, but rambled too long and lost it.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, old, and old, but at least, um, damn, what was I on about?
In Which Your Humble Blogger wants those damned kids to get back on his lawn, already. Where the hell are they? Humph.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets a total of sixty-three, but its the breakdown that concerns me.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is not really soothed by the knowledge that the assholes wouldn’t put my Perfect Non-Reader on one of their fucking signs, because to them she doesn’t even exist.
In Which Your Gripy Blogger gripes.
In Which Your Humble Blogger wonders whether the chicken was copying off the egg, or whether it was the egg that was the lazy one. I mean, no legs, for one thing.
In Which Your Humble Blogger foolishly rushes in to the publishing business, or at least into a discussion thereof.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gets excellent customer service, once the recording was over, and for values of excellent that do not involve any actual action, advice or aptitude.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is sick again, damn it, and doesn’t see why anybody else should have a good time, particularly those jerks from New Mexico. Forty-seven, pah.