When I started SB nearly a year ago the intent was to supplement what I wrote at Cracked. Unfortunately, as of today said contributions at Cracked comprise entirely of a single Photoplasty entry. I haven’t even sent them a proposal in months. It’s very much a lack of desire on my part, and also because I think they’ve slipped a bit recently. Don’t get me wrong, they still produce great stuff from time to time. I’m just not “feeling” them as much anymore.
Too many movie and video game articles I frankly don’t give a rat’s ass about.
Image credit: Valve Corporation
That said, there’s plenty of other good stuff out there. That’s a good thing, given what kind of a slacker I am.
Now here’s a novel concept. I’m not spiritual or religious in any sense, yet I’m not the slightest bit offended if someone says “Merry Christmas” to me. Say what you want this time of year: “merry Christmas,” “happy holidays,” “bitchin’ Yule,” “have a moderately neato Festivus,” or even “try the quad burger over at Irv’s!” I don’t care.
I’m feeling better than I was a couple days ago. The need for drugs has subsided. The same holds true for Sneferu, who finished a three-week regimen of antibiotics yesterday. In other words, no more shoving little pink pills down a cat’s throat every damn day.
Nah. The government shutdown isn’t THAT bad. Nevertheless, I’m in no condition for 800-1,000 words of historically-themed snark tonight. John Boehner may not need no stinkin’ health care, but I certainly do.
To wit, this bottle of store brand cold medicine will soon be history.
That’s right, children’s cold and cough. I have an eight-year-old daughter, and she’ll tell you I’m a big kid anyway. The active ingredients are the same, so what the hell, right?
So I’m being a big, sniffling wuss and bagging out on History Wednesday this time around. Sorry ’bout that. Larry over at History’s Dumpster always posts good stuff. Go check him out. Assuming the pathogens don’t completely take over around here, I’ll be back with a proper History Wednesday post next week.
Given my disdain for anything resembling cooking, it’s a wonder I don’t eat out a lot more than I do. All I can say is I’m glad to live in an age of microwaves.
Otherwise I would have been too downtrodden even by Dickensian standards.
For a myriad of reasons, I avoid McDonald’s like the plague. If I had my druthers, I wouldn’t set foot in the place ever again. Unfortunately they have a playground, and I have an eight-year-old daughter.
That sharp pain in my left side I alluded to a couple days ago is back with a vengeance. So much so I spent most of the day in bed.
It laughs in the face of ibuprofen.
Given that the highlight of my day was going downstairs to get the mail – a slow, excruciating process by the way – I was left with little to write about. Once again, in order to make the blog work I’m forced to pull something out of my ass.
Saturday evening, the close of a slow day during which I didn’t bother to put on pants.
Which is a lot like most days, unfortunately.
I’m playing old school Xbox. Djoser – who’s clearly at least as bored as I am – has decided to attack my feet from his base under the ottoman. Fortunately I’m wearing socks. Fun fact about me: I HATE being barefoot.
Then I remember, “Hey, I bought these guys a new cat toy yesterday!”