No, really, that's about all, though you could meander over to bDr's joint for some blog holiday tunes, or you could take a trip back to this month last year, which I just tapped to see what I did for 52, and which, it happens, is pretty fucking representative of this blog and many of the things it stands for--peace, freedom, iconoclasm, hockey, and hating on sports figures and Republicans. Themes I missed that month include soccer and metaphorically buttfucking stupid fucking hippies, but y'know, it was still a pretty good month.
For the curious and the concerned: still coughing, but more energetic and essentially recovering. Not gonna dah.
For that one guy who thinks I haven't said "fuck" enough in this post, and he knows who he fucking is, if he's even fucking reading: Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck FUCK.
For Sasha: Yes. Ghostie. Sorry. Still hard to talk for more than 15 words in a row.
And for Herself: Get the fuck out of bed, go get some fucking eggs, and fucking cook my fucking breakfast. What the fucking fuck, honey?
These Days I Don't Taste Good
18 hours ago