The most important things first. The other night I began planning my birthday party. Put an inverted cross on Saturday, September 19th. Provided we’re still alive by then, I’m gonna have a hoedown, and it’s a good bet that none of us will escape without black eyes.
Now then- because today is Christmas Eve, it’s likely no one is here and I’m talking to myself.
Because I remembered Christmas was tomorrow only about eighteen hours ago (if there’s a Dog in heaven, I’ll finally be able to achieve my dream and it will escape me next year entirely), I have a post written, but I reckon I’ll save it for next week.
So for now, sacrifice goats, or buttchug eggnog, or squirt glue all over the magazines at the grocery store, or whatever the hell it is you heathens do on December 25th, and hike up your britches, because 2020 is going to see a whole new level of NGAF around these parts. Why, who knows? I might be on drugs for the entire year.
My old reality is stupid. I might as well binge my way to a new one.
Like Tiny Tim so famously said in Angela Lansbury’s rendition of the Quran, “so help me Cheevus, I’ll beat you to death with my fake leg.”