There’s a whole heap of bad and sad that’s going on in our world right now, so it just doesn’t feel right to come here and blab on about my typical nonsense. But I’m going to anyway, because if I don’t then the terrorists win, Reader, and we can’t have that. So for love of country, here we go.
A few moments ago I bent down to wipe something up from the kitchen floor (well, it was cat pee, I wasn’t going to call them out on their asshole-ie-o behavior, but they are assholes sometimes and so well, now you know that one of my assholes peed on the kitchen floor) and I went to straighten up and bashed my head on the countertop.
Reader. That hurt like a motherfucker, and now I’m a little on the dizzy side, so anything I say that doesn’t make sense or offends you, let’s blame on my mild countertop concussion.
I saw this advertisement at our local watering hole and it had me do a double-take. What about you, Reader?
I didn’t see the “o” right away. Not even on my 2nd or 3rd glance.
I was wondering just what sort of a festival we were advertising before the small “o” registered and then I realized Eric Church wasn’t really going to have anything at all to do with cunts – mine or others – at the festival and I decided I didn’t need a ticket after all. Eric Church, if that agenda happens to change and you would like to have something to do with my see-you-next-tuesday, lemme know and I will be more than happy to oblige your loving me like a wrecking ball, despite that sounding a little ouchy and rough. But please don’t knock any pictures off my walls, I have a tough enough time keeping this place in order. That would frankly just irk me.
Reader, I’ve left you with a bit of yet another dry spell, and I’m barely putting out right now, but hey, I just bashed my own brains in, so let’s take what we can get and say thank you.
Manners, Reader. It’s all about good manners.
*if you don’t know Eric Church, or why he’d wanna love me like a wrecking ball, ya need to give that c*untry music a bit of a listen.