Good morning, insects. It is I, Yola. Friday is the day that stands on the bleeding edge of drunken revelry and ships passing in the night. I don't know about you lot, but I'm laundering my little cotton socks right now.
What's playing on the toaster? Farrah Fawcett's timeless version of Sinnerman. Mmm.
Since I'm not planning on straining my eyes to find wisdom in the comments of Cyberdrew this weekend, this will be my final post for the week. If you want more Yola, meet me at the watering hole. Bring your credit card. My month is emerald and my year is steel.
Next week, I have a facial so my favorite elected official will be nattering into your little shell-like ears, Congressman David Crockett from the insignificant state of Tennessee. Please bow and scrape as usual.
And for today, one last question for you to consider. Where do you writers get your ideas?
Ta for now, YOLA
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