And She Said . . .

I should be asking, like, what the fuck is wrong with the world (or at least, the good ole’ USA — except it’s not so hard to answer that question). But instead, all I really want to know right now, and I mean this, is what the fuck is wrong with Minnesota. It’s fucking 40 degrees out — fuck, fuck, fuck — I’m all full of bad language about it, and for good god-damned reason. And yet, it doesn’t do me a shit of good.

Not only that, things aren't looking much better until after the first week of May. Umm, hello, mother nature, I’m not particularly amused. And like, you know, it’s way, way past April 1st. I’m sick of being fooled. Heeheehaahaa, look I'm totally tapped out. Please, please make me stop laughing.

I’ve been gone a while. Too much to do not enough time to rant and rave. It seems like I sat next to that stupid couple like, yesterday. Yesterday, not fourtysomethingicantrememberdays ago.

Question: So, is it all right to keep a blog, if I blog out of it for weeks on end?

Answer: Who cares, and I guess it is if you keep reading . . . you, well, you know who you are (yes you g'sexy).

Ode of the day: Ode to nothing. Because without sun, well, I’m not feeling particularly gosh darned odey. And nothing seems as good as anything. And anything isn’t very specific. See, at least I’m a little discriminating.