Please do not talk to me when I'm trying to pee in public. My bladder is a tad shy, and you standing there trying to make small talk, is pissing me off by not allowing me to piss at all.

Don't make me talk about the f**king weather. I don't want to.

A very nice lady at the office was retiring. One of the agencies she works with gave her a gift of fine chocolates from a local confectionery. I was lucky too try one of them. Seriously, the chocolates were like little works of art. If you had left them out, they would have looked fake.

I ate one, and it burned my throat. Could have been liquor, but I think it was ginger. Who puts ginger in chocolate?

The Voynich Manuscript is truly a big mystery. Ancient cookbook? Arcane magical text? Some bored monk's herbage guide? Seriously, the NSA actually worked on it. They could not find dick.

I f**king hate S.U.V's. I don't care if you can jam the whole goddamn soccer team into the back, they're dangerous resource wasting mobile abominations. Yes, this is an issue with me. No, I don't care if the seats in yours keep your ass warm and sweaty.

(psst. click the image)

Gaaa!!! I am a slave to the intrawebs. I would rather have no running water, than be without broadband. Just plug me into the matrix now, okay? Dammit!!

Sorry about the delay, Gentle Viewers. Cox Cable can't seem to get their shit together, and I've been without a good connection for two evenings now. Thus you get a nice chunky post this morning. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday all rolled up into one happy ball of foamy goodness.

Thursday:


Friday:

Saturday:






There's a little bit to cover here. First of all, I've been listening to a LOT of Kate Bush recently. The cover of her most recent album, Ariel, has an image of a sound wave (from a song bird, I believe) on it. Second, I believe I posted a blog about this. This link should explain it well enough. Finally, I have a friend at the Topeka Library who participates in NaNoWriMo each year. This year, her novel was a science fiction novel (although she has confided in me that it was actually a metaphor for work place drama). There are space hookers in the novel. There really should be more space hookers.

In linear order of viewing from my office window: The Window, The Wendy's Parking Lot (although you cannot actually see the Wendy's very well), Topeka Boulevard, The Domino's Pizza Parking Lot (small, but a semi-tractor trailer full of pizza stuff fits in there once or twice a week), and then a Domino's Pizza Take Out. It's not exactly a postcard view.

The crane is real. They're building an edition to Stormont-Vail hospital. I do not believe that the crane is for the translocation of ambuli, though.

I am occasionally distracted by rounded parts. No, I don't want to fix that about me.