And here I am!
Well hello, gentlemen!
Yes, I assume I'm speaking to gentlemen. And I'm pretty sure I know who you are.
Let me begin with this picture, which I took last summer.
I call it "Of Course It's a Pretty Tree, You Fucking Idiot":
These are troubled times in our land, as Headmaster Sharp has noted many times.
Now, now...
I know that the huddled masses are busy drinking their canned beer, spitting their Skoal and clenching their fists in frustration at a world where Larry the Cable Guy isn't on TV enough.
At least they have their NASCAR, the white trash version of Formula 1.
I don't even have my drivers license, but I'm willing to bet I could turn left all day, too.
God, I am honestly terrified of leaving Saint Giles.
It's enough to make me wish I had a time machine and could re-visit my carefree youth and my good friend Squinty the Owl...
My mom sent me that picture just last week, and I could practically smell the dead-rat-in-a-sewer smell of Squinty's talons once more!
True gentlemen, however, are out, making waves in this world, as I hope to do.
As for the ladies? They do not find this site amusing at all.
How am I this fine day?
Let me put it this way: it's January, it's cold, and I still haven't heard back from my Incan friends.
I'm starting to worry. But, then again,they have a way of bouncing back.
Unlike our old friend Mr. Jeffries.
We miss you Ole Sport!
Yes, I assume I'm speaking to gentlemen. And I'm pretty sure I know who you are.
Let me begin with this picture, which I took last summer.
I call it "Of Course It's a Pretty Tree, You Fucking Idiot":
These are troubled times in our land, as Headmaster Sharp has noted many times.
Now, now...
I know that the huddled masses are busy drinking their canned beer, spitting their Skoal and clenching their fists in frustration at a world where Larry the Cable Guy isn't on TV enough.
At least they have their NASCAR, the white trash version of Formula 1.
I don't even have my drivers license, but I'm willing to bet I could turn left all day, too.
God, I am honestly terrified of leaving Saint Giles.
It's enough to make me wish I had a time machine and could re-visit my carefree youth and my good friend Squinty the Owl...
My mom sent me that picture just last week, and I could practically smell the dead-rat-in-a-sewer smell of Squinty's talons once more!
True gentlemen, however, are out, making waves in this world, as I hope to do.
As for the ladies? They do not find this site amusing at all.
How am I this fine day?
Let me put it this way: it's January, it's cold, and I still haven't heard back from my Incan friends.
I'm starting to worry. But, then again,they have a way of bouncing back.
Unlike our old friend Mr. Jeffries.
We miss you Ole Sport!
