I don’t feel compelled to share, well, anything with you right now. I’m going to switch my behavior card to black and take a time out for a bit.
I recall a precedent once set by a professor to contrive a personal mantra. I’d like to revise mine: An exercise in incoherence.
I’m pretty sure that the cat is eating an empty Reece’s Peanut Butter Cup wrapper and I really don’t care. Unless, of course, that lazy bastard brings me a beer.
I continue to hit the “Y” key in Google Reader and worry about the results. Also, Max(ine) (Newlin’s cat whom I’m watching while he’s on tour) continues to hit, I believe, all of the keys, which leaves me concerned about my concerted lack of contribution into the ether.
My house looks like the home improvement apocalypse hit and I’ve been raptured and sent back repeatedly.
Of particular irrelevance
The last search term on my phone was “vajazzling” whose image results were passed around the table while dining with friends at Stoneground.
I didn’t have the presence of mind to snap a photo, but what business does a twenty-something outside of Jersey have wearing a polyester track suit? This could be misconstrued as an endorsement for the men of New Jersey to continue their wreckless anti-fashion. It’s not. I acknowledge the Jersey troglodytes in the same sense as one does fish in the sea— occasionally a ham fisted stick of dynamite takes one out. And they make for delicious eating.
Since my simple critique lends nothing to society/ culture at large, I present to you my contribution of hapless couture:
Note: Danny Devito’s “troll foot” is not only an order of magnitude more disgusting than mine, it is also the original, making mine no better than the Urban Outfitters of infantry. But that’s fitting, isn’t it?