Oh Heli, Oh Heli, Copter!
In Which Your Humble Blogger puts on his John Gielgud voice and asks if she wants me to wipe her dick for her, you little shit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger puts on his John Gielgud voice and asks if she wants me to wipe her dick for her, you little shit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger lets himself go a bit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is caught up on book reports, not counting the four books I’m in the middle of now, and of course any of the books that I have forgotten about entirely.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads the wrong play.
In Which Your Humble Blogger imagines a room with nobody in it but one white-haired dude, muttering to himself and watching the advance video of Frost/Nixon.
In Which Your Humble Blogger wants to join in the mockery, but that would require implementation of certain policies and procedures that only as the president of the United States can be taken.
In Which Your Humble Blogger clicks a bit.
In Which Your Humble Blogger closes the door on the summer.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads a poem, closely. Well, closely-ish.
In Which Your Humble Blogger accidentally rereads a book, because, hey, it was in my hand, what else was I supposed to do?