I love my wife. I’m telling you, she’s great. But she should never be allowed to shop for produce for taco night.
Yes, I realize that cabbage does look a bit like lettuce. It does not, however, come across the same on a taco.
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Playing a quick (ha!) round last night before bed. I’m watching my message panel, and the following goodies blink by.
Judaism has been founded in a distant land!
Hapshepsut has adopted Slavery!
Me: …
Apparently I am allergic to oak pollen. Maybe maple. They both came out hard this week in New York and I am currently suffering. My sinuses are like unto twin neutron stars behind my eyes, not merely content to be dense, squatting anomalies on the rubber sheet of my internal reality, but they’re branching out into pain emissions like some kind of sadistic, boogery pulsar thing.
I shall content myself with thoughts of murder and mayhem.
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