"Oh, shit, it's that time already?"
Ecstatic that our psycho offspring will soon be going back to school, I'm dreading that since I'll be doing the same I'll have to flip l'interrupteur français on once again -- whaddya mean this class isn't being taught in English? -- so, between that and using 90% of my USDA daily allowance of 0.3 joules of energy towards writing that fucking book, the remaining 10% to yelling at said psycho offspring -- my better half and I never yell at each other, merely scowl in between bouts of birding -- my brain is as soft as Johnny Mac's bowl of tapioca as it melts into runny, rancid liquid while he snoozes ever so sweetly underneath the blistering sun, exhausted from a long day of state fair pig squealing with Cindy.
Hey, dcap, I'm just fine, thanks, how 'bout my Cavs?
Mo Williams, less problems!
Talk amongst yourselves, stick bananas in the exhaust pipe of local Republican vehicles, get baked, bake some cookies, copulate, play bocce ball, play with yourself. Just don't do that last one in public, okay?
I think I'm going to take it easy, like it was Sunday morning.
Behind-the-scenes footage from the last Straight Talk BBQ.
"John! Wake up! I read the news today, oh boy!"
"John! John! Did you see this report? We'll be the minority by 2050!"
"Cindy, my friends and I are not plastered trollops."