Who’s got fleas?
We’ve got fleas.
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OM NOM NOM NOM NOM! |
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That's messed up, right there. |
By “we”, I mean our condo. And by “our condo”, I mean our condo that has no pets and had no
fleas two weeks ago. I just
emptied out an entire can of Zodiac Aerosol Spray on our carpets and
upholstery. I shut the front door
behind me, yelling “Goodbye fleas! You’d better be f***ing dead when I get
home!” Please feel free to co-opt
that dialogue for any of your future screen- or teleplays. You’re welcome.
A flea spray accidental high has some pretty interesting side
effects. The world just got very
loud and I keep seeing cops everywhere. That ain’t right.
Oh. I'm at Starbucks. How’d I get here?
Oh. I'm at Starbucks. How’d I get here?
My brother is in town from the bEast Coast. The fleas are seriously endangering the
pizza-grilling and whisky-sharing that I'd scheduled. See, nobody wins.
Someday our home is going to be AWESOME.
Right?
In blog maintenance news, I’ve made some minor tweaks to the
‘About Me’, ‘Whisky Notes’, and ‘Declaration of Principles’ pages. The most important update is that the
Whisk(e)y Reports have actual stars in their ratings now. ★★★★★. I am clearly an HTML god.