A HAND THERE

The turkey vulture has been fed -- he's presently sitting on her chair licking his chops, or rather, whatever passes for chops when you only have a beak -- the HVAC at a certain city administration building is on the fritz again, as it appears to always be when the weather is unbearable, and we're surprised that not many more people are sick because of it, and all election literature that arrived today has been thrown out.

It was mid eighties during the afternoon.
So I didn't leave the house.

Two things: Pears are as good as root vegetables in certain savoury dishes, which is very mediaeval, and always close your apartment mate's door before lighting up your pipe. This is important, irrespective of what you smoke. English or Balkan blends, Virginias and Virginia-Perique concoctions, Burley type tobacco mixtures and the like, or heaven forefend and damn you to all heck aromatic shite.

The less said about the pipe tobaccos habitually incinerated by the majority of pipe smokers the better. They're very popular, just like greasy fast food and weak burnt coffee, and I am appalled at how low people can go. Disgusted, and shocked. Good grief.

Aromatic shite is something you will not find in this apartment.
I am not a heathen, despite what you may have heard.

I am also, which is surprising given the weather, not naked but fully clothed. Tomorrow at work I shall also be fully clothed, even though it will be hotter than it was today.
I am not looking forward to that. I'd rather be naked.


There will be a naked turkey vulture in this apartment.
Wearing naught but a neckerchief.
Fetching!



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