Pleading the Fifth
I can neither confirm nor deny that I was listening to ZZ Top while going 105 mph in my father in-law’s BMW yesterday.
But I’m sure that if I did, it would be awesome.
Bad parents!
Who pays someone to take photos of their kid in front of the ugliest mural west of the Mississippi? These bozos, apparently. I threw up in my mouth a little when I realized what they were doing.
Just think about the traumatic childhood this kid will inevitably have with parents who are so misguided. These are the type of people who let their kid juggle kitchen knives because they’re afraid telling him not to do something will damage him emotionally.
Nut jobs.
It could have been worse
I couldn’t figure out why the balls weren’t shooting out of the top of Jake’s new toy. It took me a second to notice the watch my dad got me when I graduated college clogging the tube.
Then it dawned on me: that orange part at the top could just as easily have been a toilet bowl. You get my drift.
See? I told you I was alive.
OK. So here’s the story: work. Actually, I’m not sure why the *&%# I haven’t been writing as much lately. Work has definitely been more insane than usual. And by “usual” I mean “than it was last October.” Yes, work has been taking its toll and my brain has been mush. And Brain Mush is not conducive to writing.
Honestly, Call of Duty 4 has been my “decompression” activity lately. Yes, sniping terrorists not only is good for world peace but it’s much more mindless than writing. Also, writing isn’t a spectator sport – to really dig into something I need to shut out everything else and focus. However, my wife will watch me play COD4 and be a second set of eyes which has me promoted to rank of First Lieutenant II. I now have a sweet new assault rife with a red dot scope. Thank you honey!
I’m also getting old and fat, which means getting to the gym is much more important which means getting up early which means getting to bed early which means less blogging. Curse my love handles!! Curse them!
OK. Lunch break is over. Back to the grindstone.
