Captain’s Log 5,718
Sometimes, I like to cobble together statements made in earlier posts. Just cobble. I don’t try to do anything. I am just experiencing the randomness of an early morning mind fueled by strong coffee and the scent of freshly-cut grass. It’s one of those mornings.
I filmed my interesting hose this morning for everyone’s enjoyment.
Pinkeye would be less painful and just as scary.
So I was trying to write a song about sucking on Satan’s sacks.
Okay, where is your mom at, bitch?
I am going to swig DayQuil until I don’t even notice the errors.
Bud Light actually tastes a bit like bananas.
This guy ate a few apples we brought along and then stopped to pee.
I was ready to stand on my head and sing Old Rugged Cross if I thought it would help.
Little Rocky came into my room this morning and attempted to perform CPR.
If I was a brain surgeon and another brain surgeon made a suggestion, I would listen.
I am up for anything that doesn’t require me to remove my clothing in public, dance in public, or hang upside down.
If I sat down with a plan I know my mind would lock up and nothing would happen.
I stay away from the edges of cliffs when I am around pranksters.
The show also touches on the perils of lactose intolerance.
She said she wanted to have sex with my frozen hair by the fireplace.
You just never know what can happen to those reclusive research scientists who work in jungles.
Here is a rendition of Blue Moon done by a lady organist who dressed like a mermaid.
I just need to face the fact that I am odd. Just odd.
When you are finished, go staple a vicar.