Death Valley and the Dead Undergarments
I just went out to get the mail. I only thought it was hot this morning. Damn. I think I need a beer now just to recover from the walk to the mailbox (20 yards from the porch).
aaahhh. Guinness Extra Stout. I always know that there will be beer in the fridge if I by Guinness because I am the only one here that will touch the stuff.
Wanna know just how fucking cheap I really am when it comes to purchasing clothing for myself? Well, a couple of weeks ago my shoes separated from the sole at the toes. A touch of marine contact adhesive fixed that shit right up. Or how about these bad boys?
One would think that Mr Fab had snuck into my house to wear my damned underwear. Actually I just have to make sure the family jewels are protected and there are no nasty skid marks. The rest is all window dressing anyway. It’s not as if I wear my damn underwear where you can see it, unlike quite a few young people now.
I must be getting fucking desperate for blog fodder. Where’s a good blogmeet when you need one. Maybe I will take that pair instead of disposing of them, and fly them outside my cabin like a flag.