Blowing up the balloon
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads George F. Will’s column in his local paper, and wants to gripe about it, but the only person here is pre-verbal.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads George F. Will’s column in his local paper, and wants to gripe about it, but the only person here is pre-verbal.
In Which Your Humble Blogger reads backwards and forwards, to his own detriment.
In Which Your Humble Blogger waits for Elijah to come, kinda hoping he doesn’t make it this year.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is made a bit uncomfortable, which is probably good.
In Which Your Humble Blogger keeps it in his pants.
In Which Your Humble Blogger proposes a fifty-percent reduction in those little circles that fall out of the hole-punch when the rubber bottom comes off.
In Which Your Humble Blogger tries to provoke Gentle Readers into watching themselves and others for signs of one-up-nessositificationage.
In Which Your Humble Blogger has compassion, except for robots.
In Which YHB enjoys a book even though it’s not his sort of thing.
In Which Your Humble Blogger is boiled and eaten, but it’s only a bit part, really, and will probably be left on the cutting room floor.