I would just like to take this moment to apologize to my readers (all 42 of you. You give me yet another reason to love Douglas Adams’s favorite number). I apologize for being so fly-off-the-handle political on this blog, and will strive to do better. I think I have come to a resolution for my outrage. Read on to learn about my resolution.
Take it from me, Doc — a great way to cheer yourself up each morning is to go out onto your patio, or just open a window and lean out, look around, and give the world a good, loud, “BOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
Religion and evolution! Here are two topics that go well together. Let me kick these two turds around for a bit and let’s see what we come up with. This is a free-thought post meant to be a humorous consideration of how science is affecting our spiritual development. It’s what’s keeping me from sleep tonight.
On this blog, I like to poke fun at Mr. Mitch McConnell, Republican representative from the bizarro state of Kentucky. Tonight, however, I want to write a letter to Mr. McConnell to let him know that his life is no joke. It’s not funny. And when his body dies, he will learn just how horrible his life has been.
Another excerpt from The Spaces Between, an opus like no other… because I haven’t written any others. Don’t think of it as a literary work, think of it more as a hobby of mine that I am inflicting upon you. When we last left Ted, he was at the infamous Nellis Air Force Base, AKA “Area 51.” And… he’s still there, but getting more involved.
Fort Kentucky Air Force Base is sometimes referred to as the Area 51 of the East. It is a top-security Everetti base that consists of experimental aircraft test flight runways, regular fighter and bomber aircraft runways, hangars, control towers, satellite dish arrays, droid control centers, fusion weapons storage, Fusion Deployment System control centers, and a large underground and secured facility for housing storage, research facilities and other classified uses. In other words, it’s a party of clandestine activities.
There we were, Mr. Willem Dafoe and I, resting up from our recent trials in the Florida Everglades in the back bed of a dark stranger’s El Camino pick-up car. Little did we know that the man behind the wheel was not just any man, but the infamously unbalanced Florida Man.
Once again I find myself reminiscing, this time about the early aughts, when Willem Dafoe and I got drunk on a fan boat in the Everglades and wrestled some alligators, which turned out not to be alligators but were instead three swamp people with severe eczema.
I am reminiscing tonight as I oft do when I am feeling low, and I happened to recall the story of The Worst Wing-Man Ever.
Just what the title says. I’d give a more detailed summary, but I have a train to catch.