Another flower
These tend to get lost in my gallery, so I will start picking out the good ones for your amusement.
These tend to get lost in my gallery, so I will start picking out the good ones for your amusement.
I think that I was up too late. At least I wasn’t up as late as Cake Woman, who is working the third shift now. She baked me another cake, but this one had crumbled under the weight of its own deliciousness. I hope she is sleeping now instead of plotting more cake. I may take a nap in anticipation of tonight’s fireworks, perhaps while the Monk marathon plays on TV.
I took a little time to take pictures of seven of the eight elm trees in the neighborhood that will be cut down. Thanks a lot, Dutch Elm disease. I would have taken a picture of the eighth one, but it snuck up on me. Hopefully they won’t plant a dozen of the same tree next to eachother again — c’mon, how about a little biodiversity for once?
Hoffentlich meine neue Freund liest mein Blog jetzt gern, aber schreibe ich nicht auf Deutsch. Was fur eine Artikel soll Ich schreibe fur Sie? Vorher Ich schreibe sollte ich mehr schlafen?
I swear that I’m not always this off-kilter, but my German is always this atrocious.
Things to do today:
OH, that’s YESTERDAY’s list, because it is the 4th now. Lisa promised that her friend has fireworks and booze, which are all I need to complete my Independence Day weekend. Time to lose a finger!
What’s on today’s list?
I already complained to everybody about the Saturday’s manual labor at my mom’s house, but if you are the sort of random girl (or member of law enforcement) who visits my blog after googling for me, you might not have heard about the half ton (or more) of bricks that I helped unload while my dear mother lorded over us with the shotgun and the bottle of rotgut whiskey. If you are not a random girl, but some specific girl who has been directed to read my blog, you have already heard this story, albeit without the embellishments that I added tonight because I punchy and loopy. I don’t know who else reads this on a regular basis besides Lisa, Paul, and my cousin, who probably cringes every time I swear. HELLO, FUCKERS!
John taught me some new songs that we could sing while we worked, but the lyrics were all pretty simple:
Oh lord!
Take me home!
I’m so tired!
Bein’ alone!”
After each line we’d swing our sledgehammers and bust up some more rocks. Shore was hot out there, all chained together and bustin’ up rocks. Then we made a break for it with George Clooney. John done got loved up and turned into a horney toad. I kept ‘im in a box but that one-eyed preacher done squashed ‘im and we thought ‘e was dead, but he weren’t dead ‘tall, just back on the gang.
Maybe that was something else. I’m kind of tired. Anyway, we unloaded bricks, then deadlifted rotten railroad ties into the back of the Home Depot truck (which is like chest-high, because Home Depot HATES PEOPLE WHO HAVE TO PUT THINGS IN THEIR TRUCKS). I won’t say what we did with the railroad ties because those random law enforcement officers might be reading this and not only find out where we dumped them (next to the railroad tracks in some woods) but also where the bodies are (under the railroad ties) — or at least the inedible parts, which include the liver. GROSS.
Once again, there are no bodies.
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