Regular readers know I am somewhat indulgent of my felines. About 5:30 yesterday morning I was slumbering peacefully when I suddenly felt eight kitty feet. It seems two of the furry four - I didn't even see which two - decided to run laps, and the route was across not my leg, not my back. Nope. Right across my FACE. I hollered, said a few coach words, and stumbled off to the bathroom to watch the blood drip. Washed up, Bactined up, gave up on the idea of more sleep. Poured the coffee, started blogging. | |||
Didn't realize how bad it looked till I went out in public. Kept score and I was asked sixteen times "what happened to your face?" So now I'm Scarface. I tried to blame Voldemort but unfortunately the scar is not in the proper lightning bolt format. |
Plus I just figured out why my page width was all messed up the last three days - that was the cats too. Gave me an excuse to clean up the blogroll and the code.
As for the Nuge, I'm not in tune with him politically or lifestyle-wise (I'm a hypocritical non-veggie who prefers my meat pre-killed by others), but back in the day he rocked. "Awriiiiiight, it's ze WANGO ze TANGO!" One Two Three Aaagh! And while my face, in its present condition, is NOT a Maserati, my hair (when I had it) used to be almost that long.
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