- Man, I’m not so sure about all this recent attention. It makes it hard to perform. Kind of like trying to get a hard-on when you’re on the middle bed at midnight at a swingers’ bar, and all eyes are on you. The fluffing only goes so far.
- Came home Wednesday night to my wife screaming from the basement. I walk downstairs and there’s water everywhere. I inspect the situation and see globs of toilet paper and speckles of human shit floating around. Main drain line backup. Fortunately, it turned out to be the result of the three year old flushing his pull-ups down the potty, and not a collapsed line. My neighbor the plumber got a kick out of that when his augur pulled out three size 4T pampers pull-ups.
- But now, I get to rip out the carpet in the adjacent extra basement bedroom, because it’s f**king trashed. Was not looking to do this on a Friday evening. Tomorrow the drywall comes out. It’s a great beer drinking project tho. I’m currently 15 True Pilsners deep with a horseshoe of Skoal Mint in. My wife thinks she’s getting a remodeled basement spare bedroom out of this. Haha, toots. Joke’s on you. Enjoy the cement floor and bare studs for the next three years, or whenever.
- Good breakfast gravy is indeed an art, which is funny, because it’s really pretty basic stuff. Truly think it’s one of those things that love, and the subconscious influence of those who have gone before you, influences. My wife makes incredible sausage gravy - one of the reasons I married a Georgia girl. And the hardcore anal sex, of course.
- In all seriousness, her grandfather, who was a man’s man if you ever met one, made the most incredible Southern breakfast you could ever imagine. He passed four years after we started dating, and one year before we got married. Would make the most killer spread of gravy, biscuits, streak-o-lean (look it up - sublime). Owned a meat processing and distributing plant. Smoked his meats on this stone smoker/chimney he built himself. Korean War aviator. A true different breed.
- I don’t think I shared this previously, but in May my old man had this farmer deliver a full dump truck load of horse shit to his house. Ostensibly it is for his gardens, but the real reason is that he’s trying to cultivate magic mushrooms. He has the piles tarped, appropriately watered, and everything. We’ll see what happens. He got some horse shit from this same guy last year, and accidentally grew some somewhat decent Psilocybin. They were weak, but if you ate enough of them, it made Saturday morning bass fishing interesting. He also gave me a half ounce of homegrown yesterday when I had lunch with him. Not sure what I’m going to do with it all, as I really don’t indulge that much anymore. I mean, a half O is a lot of bud.
- Racoons been getting in my outdoor trashcans, so I set the tray of juice from my extra hot, extra wet 915 wings right on top of the trash bags inside the can tonight. Little assholes going to get lit up.
- Torndao sirens going off. Time to get the flashlights and the Clown’s bottle of gin from the freezer. Maybe the lord will take my house, and I can finally cash out and move to northern New Mexico. Taos. Peace.