In Which Your Humble Blogger faces the inevitable disappointment, with the happy knowledge that this series has already gone through downs and ups.
In Which Your Humble Blogger can’t really remember what I was reading at ten, exactly. Could be twelve, could be fourteen.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has not, in point of fact, been asked to repeatedly address the topic. But if I don’t, who will?
In Which Your Humble Blogger just puts it in the non-genre category on the old spreadsheet, even though.
In Which Your Humble Blogger really does spend quite a bit of time chewing over questions like this, instead of being a productive consumer.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has not actually noticed any news stories about swindling stockbrokers building up immunity to arsenic, but I suppose it could happen, in a pig’s eye.
In Which Your Humble Blogger talks as much about the medium as the message.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is on the lunar calendar, like a civilized person.
In Which Your Humble Blogger shakes his fist at the sky. And threatens to shake it again, if you don’t watch out.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is running out of time. And energy, frankly. Oh, and money. And, alas, tea. But I’ve ordered more of that, and it should be here by the middle of the week. Time, energy and money, not so much.