Happy St. Patriggggbllllllllaaaasaaaaarggghhhh. . . !
You know what? I turned 40 on Monday. Here’s an illustration of what I think of my forties so far.
Help me, Twittermonster. Please save me from myself.
All those smashed instruments and crying men. I’m never going to get that sound out of my ears, Chet. Never.
Wherever it is I go in my dreams, the rest of me, that dogged corporeal self, attempts to follow.
Soup shouldn’t burn through the floor, right?