from the WOW report, which I found by doing my daily slog in the salt mines, during which I admire my manicure and listen to loud music and eat snack foods and drink refreshing beverages and get paid to read gossip blogs.
It’s a brutal job, but somebody’s got to do it.
It’s time for another episode of everyone’s favorite call-in show, and ohhhhh, by Shub-Niggurath, this is a good one! It’s not every day that you get to hear from Xenu himself! Wonder what Tom Cruise thinks of this?
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Yet under the blanket.
I’m not sure if I’ll be able to tolerate the flying vermin which have infested my house for the last three months long enough to blog this, but I’ll try. As I said recently, I don’t look like I’m typing; thanks to the fruit flies which attend every vegan hippie like the pages surrounding Cleopatra, I look like I’m Carol Channing, playing to the back rows on Broadway.
But I’ll try.
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I didn’t really believe it. None of us really believed it. Until the blanket. Until they pulled out the blanket and draped it over him and even then, still, some primal instinct within us was wishing, hoping, truly believing that they’d tuck it under his chin and say, “There you go, Fred,” and he’d say thanks, it’s cold out, but the only one who said it was cold out was the nurse who’d been working on him ever since the car hit him.
And as they pulled the blanket up over his face, it got even colder.
raincoaster 