Too much of a Good Thing. Too many/much food and snackage, especially sugary stuff. I ate as much of it as I will consume in a year. Too much (is that even possible?) booze. I feel like I have just road-marched 30 miles. And yes, I used to do that on a routine basis.
The kids got 'Moon Sand'. I would have sooner stuffed a rabid gerbil up their asses, but the wife is out of control at this time of year...(pauses writing, has shot of brandy, chases it with a beer he couldn't finish last night so he stuck it in the fridge, continues)...
At least we weren't belabored by family. Those who dropped by kept their visits mercifully brief, then escaped to other, more normal climes. They have learnt to hang with rich people, and marry well. This zeros the wife and I out of the equation quite nicely.
Though I married for love, and would have it no other way. We both gave up so much...I shed my kids, and she shed her millionaire, and when we turn our gaze inward, we are surprisingly content and happy with the decisions we made.
My SIL is a military officer, and he had to do a very bad thing that affected the careers of many men, and it was a hard thing, very hard, yet he did it, and it makes me very proud of him, and for my daughter whose child she recently bore from him. And I fear for his/their safety, because this is the sort of thing bad men kill good men over, and the standards to serve our country have been dropped considerable.
I realize I am just rambling, here. Sorry. But this week (so far) has been one large field of both flowers and thorns, surrounded by mists that isolate what is coming next. Had some great crock-potted pork. Tender as butter. And one of the best baked potatoes ever, with all the fixins. Seeing fresh, bright green chives at this time of year, makes it worth it to not have flying cars or personal jet packs.
You Primitives who choose to live in snowy lands on purpose bewilder me, as usual. We saw some flakes yesterday, and it was like seeing the birth of faeries. Or, as I like to think of it, the herpes scabs from Frosty's balls when he scratches his nuts.
So, what's the best present you got this year? Blowjobs count. And none of that 'peace on earth', or 'an infant's smile' shit, or I'll find out where you live and come puke a quart of guacamole right on ya. Yeesh.
To get 'peace on earth', quite a lot of people have to die, and/or get the living shiite beat out of them, so it rather nullifies the entire concept then, doesn't it.
Am I the only one who could give a shit about the writer's strike? Or the tiger? Or who, in fact, thinks the tiger-bitten assholes likely had it coming? And it's funny how fifty-two cops can't hit one negro drug dealer in a gunfight, but put a Siberian Tiger in their face, and they manage to kill it with pistols.
Well, I am craving Taco Bell tacos so badly, I dreamt of them all night. I'm gonna nap, then forage for such, and then go see the new AvP movie, and get exposed to whatever sickness bugs miscreants emit in such a place.
Merry merry, happy happy.