Neanderpundit

Her Chem teacher is hurried and less than adequately explanatory, so she wanted to spend a bit more time understanding, and I uncovered some still-functioning brain cells that I figured were dessicated lumps of dust on the floor next to the toilet in a seedy motel in San Dimas. Here a guy spends good money on a weekend with the hookers and everclear seeking to burn that shit out of his brain, and those memories turn up forty years later, working like they had never been melon-balled out by a mexican girl named arlene with daisy dukes and a muffintop.

Pascal’s anger takes him to places his irritation cannot, and when he does, it’s worth a read. This piece he originally penned in 06 is as valid and important now as then, and if you haven’t read it before you ought to now.

No incense. No peppermints.
Had some brie and black forest ham for dinner sunday. Brunch consisted of a Gyros skillet with hashbrowns, eggs, and feta cheese.

The Ogwife and I awoke to what can only be described as…

…. Well, no. It pretty much defied description. The dog was throwing up in the living room, and we opened several windows before there was enough oxygen in the room to breathe normally again. The Oglet just shook her head and ran through the cloud on the way to the garage.