BARBECUE FANTASIES

Over on the East Coast, in the Carolinas, a friend laments daylight savings time. His misery is compounded this year because he spent yesterday in New Hampshire surrounded by freaks and wiccans or something. Today, as you know, daylight savings started. The clock is ticking, time we'll never get back! It's an evil communist plot, tell you what.

It's all a conspiracy by the fake news media.

Pimp-style nineteen seventies.

Cool glasses.


Yeah, I went to bed early. I need my beauty sleep.
After a strong cup of coffee, some humanely raised tubular American (spicy pork sausage) grilled, eggplant and zuchini, and hot sauce. Followed by a prescribed medication. All of which came on the heels of a full day baby-sitting repulsive people when there were no sports on teevee. So my dreams were vivid and unbalanced.
As good a start to summer time as any.
Spring is here.

Actually, the weather is downright crappy, and not even remotely spring-like. Yesterday was exceptionally grey and rainy, there were floods, many people went down Market Street doing hippity hoppy dances prancing gaily in the horrid damp just like they would have done back in Eire while playing bagpipes and eating fabulous ethnic street food (plain boiled potatoes, cabbage corndogs, and mint ice cream), and my apartment mate did a fabulous rendition of the theme song from Shaft while plonking on her computer in the evening having spent all day since morning warm and dry arguing with a turkey vulture who keeps pissing off the teddy bear and the head sheep.

It is at times like these that I wish the gentlemen I deal with in the backroom at work would go up to the Sierras to ski and snowboard. I bet they'd be killers at re-enacting the Donner Party.

Festive!




I'm not really fully awake. Before midnight I had an argument with the turkey vulture, who insists that I should take him to work so that he can importune the old geezers for charitable contributions to the carrion-eaters cultural fund, and also feel them out for fatty thighs to harvest. As food. For carrion eaters. The most important thing.

Beaty sleep: unsuccesful.



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