Good morning, proles. It is I, Yola. Tuesday…god, I was supposed to do something on Tuesday. Pick up the dry cleaning. Fire the gardener. Toss some everclear, beef liver and bone meal in a blender for the Yolettes. Swing by Jamie's House of Kolor for an oil change. Oh, that's right—seat a death panel to rule on Trig's viability as a future citizen of the US.
Honestly, people. Is universal health care such a hard concept? I'd like to know that after an evening at the Yukon, Barbie's playmates will have a place to go. That horn is not getting any softer (ahem, that's what she says, anyway).
What's playing on the toaster? The new one by Ron Carlson. Oh, baby, that man can dance.
So anyways, thought I'd throw that one back atcha'll. Be a death panel. What the heck should we do with Trig?
THE SHADOW Defies the Clutch of the Talon (1946)
18 hours ago
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Trig should be Prez. We couldn't do any worse.
ReplyDeleteI have a fine recipe for fricasseed infant. It was passed down from my dear old grandmother, who used to make whoopee with W.C. Fields.
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