I see you. I see you out there, William Wallace (Hi Biscuit and Hon! and glad you liked the dress, there, Highlander). I see you out there, people searching for Ecuadorian pussies, donkey pussies, naked women bearing dope paraphernalia, and Megan Marshack. I see hamsters in hamlets, and persons from strange countries, and persons from Australia. And I see those of you who drop by because I like arguing on the Internet (welcome autism fans; try the "Actual Science" tag to view only the two percent of this blog that relates to that interest).
It has been an unquiet week, one that has precipitated an unusually stable downturn in the Flo and Eddie of Landru. I am overwhelmed by some personal events (we're fine), and I will crawl off of the floor soon, very soon, hopefully after the upcoming quiet weekend and quiet spring break week (during which Databoy will be at his grandparents' house a hundred and some miles away). The focus here of late has been on existence, and it's been singular. A little solitude and a little Ilse and a lot of nothing will yield spectacular resluts here, and I'll be back to entertain. Entertain me, anyway.
Until then, bask in the knowledge that however bad your bracket sucks, it does not suck as badly as mine.