Fast art about the perils of hip-twitching from Tourette's making food processing rather aggravating.

Fast art about the perils of Tourette's-induced Thundershits
Yeah, remember when I said my writer's block was going away?

It didn't.

Fuck.

Gonna go run an errand and think REEEEEALY hard and maybe I'll have something to say after we see GRINDHOUSE tonight.

Sorry I'm letting you down, my monkeys.

Maybe I'll find something from my archives for you again.

b
Apologies for being EVEN WORSE THAN USUAL at e-mail replies.

My copy of Outlook shat itself last Thursday after I installed a program AT&T asked me to, and it took me until last night to figure out how they'd cocked it up. In the mean time, I've had to use my web interface, which is inexplicably annoying to me.

Moral Of The Story: I'm still going to be shit about answering e-mails, but at least now I can pretend that I'm trying to turn over a new leaf.

b
Last year, when we painted the back of our house--which was a nightmare in and of itself--we also took down the massive screens on our back porch.

Now  birds keep trying to build nests in it. Nest where they will generate a mound of poop that will become a self-sustaining reaction.

I've had to take down three in the last twelve hours, and I can see through my office window that they're building another.

I have a nasty feeling that I'm smearing bird shit on my karma.

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