I make no assurances, but this may very well be the world’s first 100% all-natural no-preservatives content free blog post in the history of the craft.
I woke up 20 minutes late, hoping desperately for another hour of sleep but, I guess the darker recesses of my guilty mind dragged me out of bed. Somebody’s got to whip you all into a frenzy of annoyance and it may as well be me.
My iPhone works great as a 2″x5″ Internet feed, or as a place to store music, but it’s no longer very useful as an actual phone. I’m really good at dropping it, you see, and slowly the useless little buttons, like the volume control, and the on/off switch, have fallen off. I never found the volume control, but if I shove my fingernail in the little hole where it used to be, I’ve tweaked the volume so as not to scare the pee out of my office mates. The on/off switch, I crazy glued back into place. That may be the death of my poor iPhone, which looks simply amazing as a $200+ paperweight-on-glue-fumes. I used to carry it in a little rubber case that made it bounce around happily if technology hit a tile floor, but my last one tore in half. I think the poor phone’s a goner. Don’t you wish I had a little rubber case that made me bounce around happily?
In other news, the coffee pot is done making those gurgling noises, and now it’s time to commence with gurgling noises of my own.
In other other news, Alexander, trying to settle an argument with his brother, said “Dad, you’re obscenely old: when did they invent Burger King?” I had to admit, as somebody who had never before met the qualifications to register in the Geezer Category of a 10K Run, that I don’t remember; and to ask Grandma, because if he think’s I’m obscenely old, he’s in for a bit of a shock.
I had a friend ask me last night if I knew that a colon could actually turn itself inside out. Unfortunately, this is a piece of knowledge I’d already picked up in my travels. In a sheep, they called it a blowout. We had to put one down when I was young. I don’t have nightmares, but a bit of post-traumatic stress will shake my core every time I see a prolapsed rectum walking down the street. I live in Washington DC, so it happens a lot more often than you’d think.
And as for the Doubters who said I couldn’t possibly make my blog more boring than an interpretive dance rendition of 1 Chronicles chapters 1-9, or of the Lint Channel (one of Oprah’s lesser-known media projects)? Well I guess you’re glad you’re not gambling men, now.