Here’s a chair, there’s the door
In Which Your Humble Blogger gripes like a gripey gripey guy.
In Which Your Humble Blogger gripes like a gripey gripey guy.
In Which Your Humble Blogger doesn’t mean to disparage the legitimate celebration of a successful woman, but for crying out loud.
In Which Your Humble Blogger would say something serious about marriage and rights, but dick jokes don’t make themselves.
In Which—did you ever have the dream where you suddenly realized that you could fly? And more than that, that you always knew you could fly, but for some reason had forgotten it? And you’re, like, kicking yourself because really, you could have been flying all along, but at the same time, check it out! I’m flying! We’re all flying! Let’s never forget again, OK?
In Which Your Humble Blogger sticks out his chin, and grins, and says…
In Which YHB attempts to scare your pants off. You weren’t wearing pants? I’ll wait.
In Which Your Humble Blogger vents a bit. What? It’s a blog, isn’t it?
In Which Your Humble Blogger can’t remember whether it was Coca-Cola that was the real thing or Tom Stoppard.
In Which Your Humble Blogger attempts, dimly, to imagine what it would be like to be someone very different.
In Which Your Humble Blogger rants a bit about the whole obnoxious sweeteners business. And what’s up with calling them sweeteners, anyway? Is that businesspeak? Like getting a company car or an executive producer credit?