Meg Griffin admitted to Bowdoin College

A pity she didn’t choose Bates, instead. We don’t have nearly enough cartoon characters struttin’ around here. Although I did see a guy who looked an awful lot like Dagwood plucking something out of a dumpster behind 7-Eleven the other day. I think he might be on the pipe. Dude hasn’t been the same since Blondie ran off with that Doonesbury nerd.

Staaaaawp already!

For me, Tuesday’s snowstorm went like this. I got up around noon (don’t judge) and saw that there was no snow at all outside. Hallelujah! The storm has missed us! What a glorious turn of events. So, I got down to working and the next time I look out, it was snowing pretty good and the ground was covered. No biggie. A couple passes with the snow blower and the driveways were clear again. Life is good. So I resumed work and the NEXT time I looked out, it appeared that three or four inches had fallen, in spite of my specific demands that it stop snowing immediately. Back out I went to shovel and cuss, but only a little. Two hours later, same thing. Two hours after that, same &^[email protected]#@ thing. According to web sources, the storm was supposed to stop at 4 p.m. Then it was 6 p.m. Then it was 10 and yet come midnight, the sky was still loosing fat snowflakes that laughed with glee all the way to the ground. The plow man found me weeping on the curb. He was very kind as he gently set me to the side and proceeded to build a giant snow ridge at the end of my driveway.

Lobster blood may be used in new drugs

You want to watch out for the side effects with that stuff, though. I tried lobster blood once and it made me really crabby.

Left turn, Clyde

So last week, the left blinker in my truck went out and, since I despise people who don’t use blinkers, I had to resort to the old arm gestures to signal my intent. I don’t know how they did that thing back in the day, frankly. For one thing, it was 4 degrees at the time, so every time I had to make a left turn, I got frostbite on my entire left side. Also, down in the hood, punks on the street assumed I was throwing signs at them and they responded with their own cryptic gestures. I think I might have joined a gang when all I wanted to do was pop in at the Getty Mart.

The day the music died in my truck

I also lost my bluetooth connection so I had to listen to commercial radio while I was prowling downtown. And by “commercial radio” I mean endless loops of Mike Bloomberg ads and not a single note of actual music. When did all the radio stations conspire to run their commercials in giant blocks at the same time, anyway? If you’re a short-distance commuter, you’ll forget what music even sounds like. I don’t think I’ve heard a song on the radio since the days when Abba was on tour.


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