I'll resist the temptation to make a joke out of the "wet" and the "dream" part of that title -- it was unintentional, and now it just looks cheap. But I'm too lazy to change it.
Nothing new around here except the wonderful weather. Once again, looking more like Louisiana and less like Wisconsin every day. We have a nice coating of very heavy, wet snow, but the rain is making it look less and less like a white Christmas this year.
Reminds me of Christmas, 1970. Sixty degrees. I rode my Honda 70 minibike around my grade school that day for an hour or so. Then I went home and played the Beatles album (album? WTF?) "Let it Be." I got a new pair of Radio Shack headphones from Santa that year -- Nova 10's! They were made of genuine plastic, and only weighed about 11 pounds. You lost about a pound an hour in sweat alone, since they couldn't breathe. Looked like you worked out, by the time the album was ready to flip... (??)
I have to pretend to work tomorrow... I'm not on salary, and I don't want to take the day off, at least not off my paycheck. I'll miss next Friday, too, and the Friday after that I'm going snowmobiling with my son Steven. So it's three short checks in a row to start the new year. But I'm still lucky to be working -- a lot of others are having a pretty shitty holiday out there.
Including my neighbor, the dick. Poor bastard's too broke to bring up his garbage cans, I guess. But I noticed that this week, he's savvy enough to keep them in his driveway, like the SMART white trash. Tuesday morning I snuck out and pulled them into the street by a few feet, because it was snowing again. But no dice, the snowplow didn't run them over... Damn. Oh well -- they were empty anyway. (But thanks to the commenter who suggested putting a few bags of sakrete in there. That's just evil. I like that in a guy...)
Anyway, I still haven't received a check from Google for the ads that run just to the left of my blog postings... you guys need to help me out here. For every 100 clicks on a specific ad, I get 11 cents. So get to clickin'... I've got a mortgage payment due.
Funny thing -- the ads change after every post. And apparently, they are keyed to whatever is the subject of my rant.
A few weeks ago the ads featured stuff about animals -- specifically raccoons and animal traps. Last week they changed to ads about bear-proof garbage cans and related stuff. I can't believe for a minute that anybody from Google reads this crap, so Google must have a program that selects the ads based on key words. So here's a test: I'm going to put in some key words, and we'll see if the ads reflect the subject matter. Here goes:
Naked Asian chicks.
Sex involving pastries.
Exotic aquarium dwellers.
Snowmobile riding.
Men with "growing" problems. (Don't you love those commercials?)
E.D.
Naked snowmobile riding chicks having sex with men who need Flomax. Eating aquarium pastries with Asian friends suffering from E.D.
That ought to lead to some interesting ads. Or it'll get me kicked clean off this website.
Merry Christmas -- I'd love to keep writing, but after writing about Flomax, I gotta pee......
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
My Neighbor, the dick -- the Sequel
I thought it would be tougher to get started on this next posting -- the last one seemed to write itself, since I had so much pent-up bitching inside me.
But after I wrote that last one, things just got better around here.
My neighbor, the dick, left his garbage cans in the street last week, as I mentioned before. But it snowed last Wednesday night.
Our little village is small -- it has to hire a snow plow service to do the roads. We have a new company this winter, and the new guys mean business.
The village had sent out a reminder -- which hit our mailbox that Monday -- telling us loyal subjects that we have to keep our garbage cans out of the road on nights when snow is predicted. They apologized, since this might mean a bit of inconvenience to residents, but said it was necessary "for the safety and blah blah blah..." My eyes glazed over.
Wednesday came, and it was snowing like HELL, starting shortly after noon. The dick's garbage cans were still in the street, going on 9 days now. I saw this as I turned the corner, heading for home, and suddenly I remembered the warning from the village! It's snowing like HELL out here, and my neighbor, the dick, still has his cans in the street! And they're still full of garbage! SWEET! I could hardly fall asleep that night... there's NO WAY that lazy fucker will take them up in a snowstorm!
Sure enough, the next morning I awoke to find the street plowed, but his garbage cans were no longer in the street. Instead, they were in his yard -- fully 20 feet off the street -- and garbage was every-fucking-where.
Man, I know exactly what went through that snowplow-driver's mind when he turned to come down Pearson Road... TARGETS ACQUIRED!! My mission: To get some AIR with those fucking cans! I guess he hit them at about 30 miles an hour. Oh Sweet Successful Mission! I bet he shit himself when he hit the cans -- probably thought they were gonna be empty. Hope he didn't bend the plow...
Naturally, being a good, concerned citizen, I called the Village Hall the MINUTE they were open, to complain about the HEALTH ISSUE and the PUBLIC SAFETY concerns I had when I saw this horrifying display of garbage on the side of the street. And since this is a small village, a little gossip goes a long way. Our village motto: "If you can't say something nice about your neighbor, come sit next to me and let's talk..." So of course, I listed a whole 'nother litany of complaints.
I feel better now. Someone took the cans up to his house and cleaned up the garbage strewn about -- it was cleaned up even before I got home from work. The Village Administrator called me and said she left a voice mail on the dick's answering machine, and hoped everything would get better... we'll see.
In the mean time, the Holidays are already a bit happier around here!
And what, you may ask, spurred me to write a sequel about my neighbor, the dick? I got the urge because right now I'm watching the tow truck driver hooking up the dick's wife's Audi SUV to his winch. It appears she ran off her driveway and got the Audi buried in their yard, in broad daylight, once again.
Some things never change.
But after I wrote that last one, things just got better around here.
My neighbor, the dick, left his garbage cans in the street last week, as I mentioned before. But it snowed last Wednesday night.
Our little village is small -- it has to hire a snow plow service to do the roads. We have a new company this winter, and the new guys mean business.
The village had sent out a reminder -- which hit our mailbox that Monday -- telling us loyal subjects that we have to keep our garbage cans out of the road on nights when snow is predicted. They apologized, since this might mean a bit of inconvenience to residents, but said it was necessary "for the safety and blah blah blah..." My eyes glazed over.
Wednesday came, and it was snowing like HELL, starting shortly after noon. The dick's garbage cans were still in the street, going on 9 days now. I saw this as I turned the corner, heading for home, and suddenly I remembered the warning from the village! It's snowing like HELL out here, and my neighbor, the dick, still has his cans in the street! And they're still full of garbage! SWEET! I could hardly fall asleep that night... there's NO WAY that lazy fucker will take them up in a snowstorm!
Sure enough, the next morning I awoke to find the street plowed, but his garbage cans were no longer in the street. Instead, they were in his yard -- fully 20 feet off the street -- and garbage was every-fucking-where.
Man, I know exactly what went through that snowplow-driver's mind when he turned to come down Pearson Road... TARGETS ACQUIRED!! My mission: To get some AIR with those fucking cans! I guess he hit them at about 30 miles an hour. Oh Sweet Successful Mission! I bet he shit himself when he hit the cans -- probably thought they were gonna be empty. Hope he didn't bend the plow...
Naturally, being a good, concerned citizen, I called the Village Hall the MINUTE they were open, to complain about the HEALTH ISSUE and the PUBLIC SAFETY concerns I had when I saw this horrifying display of garbage on the side of the street. And since this is a small village, a little gossip goes a long way. Our village motto: "If you can't say something nice about your neighbor, come sit next to me and let's talk..." So of course, I listed a whole 'nother litany of complaints.
I feel better now. Someone took the cans up to his house and cleaned up the garbage strewn about -- it was cleaned up even before I got home from work. The Village Administrator called me and said she left a voice mail on the dick's answering machine, and hoped everything would get better... we'll see.
In the mean time, the Holidays are already a bit happier around here!
And what, you may ask, spurred me to write a sequel about my neighbor, the dick? I got the urge because right now I'm watching the tow truck driver hooking up the dick's wife's Audi SUV to his winch. It appears she ran off her driveway and got the Audi buried in their yard, in broad daylight, once again.
Some things never change.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Back And Better Than Ever (or not)
Well, it happened.
The huddled masses, yearning to be free, have prevailed upon me to continue my blog. Fifty percent of my avowed followers, plus two more people who I believe have actually read my previous posts, have checked in. And the question on all their minds is the same... in unison, they've asked the question on everyone elses' lips: "Why'd ya quit already?"
Of course, my well-reasoned response was, to quote the philosopher Jeff Spicoli, famed alumnus of Ridgemont High School class of 1980, was: "I dunno..."
So I'm having another whack at it. Today's topic: My neighbor. The dick.
The guy who bought the house across the street from me is trying to set some kind of record for the combination event of Trying to Be White Trash While Proving a Stereotype About Pollock Contractors With Drunk-ass Wives Who Can't Drive For Shit.
If he ain't leading the event, he's gotta be up in the top 5 across the US, let me tell you.
This guy is a piece of work. He bought a $450,000 house, and immediately set about remodeling it. Two years in the making, so far, with no end in sight. He's a contractor who uses white slavery -- check that -- immigrant tradesmen from eastern Europe. If they have drivers' licenses, they got them before the crackdown, because they've been off the road with the company dump truck at least four times in the last year. The road is only 33 feet wide, so I cut them some slack.
His wife, however, isn't driving a dump truck. She's driving an Audi SUV, which she got stuck in their yard -- off the driveway -- so many times they have the local wrecker service on their speed dial. Initially we thought it was because of the snow, and their serpentine driveway. But then she buried it past the axles on a clear day with no snow cover.
Following the vehicle's recovery, their drive was covered in mud for a month. Which made it easy to follow her tracks when she left their driveway -- off the road into the grass into my yard, the neighbor's yard, the guy down the street's yard, etc. She's a mobile Grim Reaper for Kentucky Bluegrass.
Another neighbor of mine -- let's call her Betsy (her real name is Pam) -- was friends with them for a while -- their kids are in the same class at school. But they quit hanging out this summer -- Betsy can't drink straight vodka at 10 a.m. more than once in a while, and she and her husband felt like lightweights hanging around the "garage."
That's right -- the garage. When the Party Lamp is lit, they hang out in the garage, on plastic lawn chairs, whooping it up from a.m. to whenever, from March to January, looking out on their spread. Enjoying the view of their unmowed lawn, their garbage cans sitting in the street for days and days after the garbage pick-up. (Their 7-year-old twin girls are "lazy," they told me, and refuse to bring the cans up on Monday after school. So they leave them up there until the girls get the idea.)
Besides, the cans are full -- apparently they haven't paid their garbage bill lately.
Anyway, the drinking explains the driving. I know from experience, having left the roadway on occasion in the past. Shit, I even ran over a Stop sign on a snowmobile trail once. (At least that's what my buds told me the next day when I was trying to figure out the bruises on my leg and the red paint on my sled, but they could have been bullshitting me.)
But that's no excuse, and that's all in the past, anyway. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
The huddled masses, yearning to be free, have prevailed upon me to continue my blog. Fifty percent of my avowed followers, plus two more people who I believe have actually read my previous posts, have checked in. And the question on all their minds is the same... in unison, they've asked the question on everyone elses' lips: "Why'd ya quit already?"
Of course, my well-reasoned response was, to quote the philosopher Jeff Spicoli, famed alumnus of Ridgemont High School class of 1980, was: "I dunno..."
So I'm having another whack at it. Today's topic: My neighbor. The dick.
The guy who bought the house across the street from me is trying to set some kind of record for the combination event of Trying to Be White Trash While Proving a Stereotype About Pollock Contractors With Drunk-ass Wives Who Can't Drive For Shit.
If he ain't leading the event, he's gotta be up in the top 5 across the US, let me tell you.
This guy is a piece of work. He bought a $450,000 house, and immediately set about remodeling it. Two years in the making, so far, with no end in sight. He's a contractor who uses white slavery -- check that -- immigrant tradesmen from eastern Europe. If they have drivers' licenses, they got them before the crackdown, because they've been off the road with the company dump truck at least four times in the last year. The road is only 33 feet wide, so I cut them some slack.
His wife, however, isn't driving a dump truck. She's driving an Audi SUV, which she got stuck in their yard -- off the driveway -- so many times they have the local wrecker service on their speed dial. Initially we thought it was because of the snow, and their serpentine driveway. But then she buried it past the axles on a clear day with no snow cover.
Following the vehicle's recovery, their drive was covered in mud for a month. Which made it easy to follow her tracks when she left their driveway -- off the road into the grass into my yard, the neighbor's yard, the guy down the street's yard, etc. She's a mobile Grim Reaper for Kentucky Bluegrass.
Another neighbor of mine -- let's call her Betsy (her real name is Pam) -- was friends with them for a while -- their kids are in the same class at school. But they quit hanging out this summer -- Betsy can't drink straight vodka at 10 a.m. more than once in a while, and she and her husband felt like lightweights hanging around the "garage."
That's right -- the garage. When the Party Lamp is lit, they hang out in the garage, on plastic lawn chairs, whooping it up from a.m. to whenever, from March to January, looking out on their spread. Enjoying the view of their unmowed lawn, their garbage cans sitting in the street for days and days after the garbage pick-up. (Their 7-year-old twin girls are "lazy," they told me, and refuse to bring the cans up on Monday after school. So they leave them up there until the girls get the idea.)
Besides, the cans are full -- apparently they haven't paid their garbage bill lately.
Anyway, the drinking explains the driving. I know from experience, having left the roadway on occasion in the past. Shit, I even ran over a Stop sign on a snowmobile trail once. (At least that's what my buds told me the next day when I was trying to figure out the bruises on my leg and the red paint on my sled, but they could have been bullshitting me.)
But that's no excuse, and that's all in the past, anyway. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Goodbye from the Cream
When I was a kid, I didn't understand the meaning of that album title. Why were they quitting? Weren't they a pretty good band? What the fuck?
Later in life, I came to understand how people stop doing things that others may find enjoyable. The band was experiencing internal problems, and they wanted to go out on top. Made perfect sense.
Which brings me to my sad announcement -- the blog is over. Yes, it's true... I'm signing off for good.
I know, I know -- it's a tragedy and a travesty... thousands -- nay, millions -- of readers will soon miss my words of wisdom, my quirky comments, my skewed outlook on life itself. But my work here is done... it's time to move on...
Besides, when the Onion is mocking what you're doing, you know this thing has jumped the shark...
Bye bye, now...
Later in life, I came to understand how people stop doing things that others may find enjoyable. The band was experiencing internal problems, and they wanted to go out on top. Made perfect sense.
Which brings me to my sad announcement -- the blog is over. Yes, it's true... I'm signing off for good.
I know, I know -- it's a tragedy and a travesty... thousands -- nay, millions -- of readers will soon miss my words of wisdom, my quirky comments, my skewed outlook on life itself. But my work here is done... it's time to move on...
Besides, when the Onion is mocking what you're doing, you know this thing has jumped the shark...
Bye bye, now...
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Back to School Issue
Never got around to starting the snowmobiles -- the family got me busy making dinner. They wanted steaks on the grill -- I guess it's been a long time since they had a home-cooked meal. Like since Thursday, when we had turkey, roast beast, dressing, potaters, ad nauseum... the traditional Thanksgetting dinner.
So we had some of Jewel's finest on-sale, thin-cut-for-your-convenience NY Strip steaks. Good value, but you'd never mistake them for a nice restaurant piece of beef. The red potaters made it a palatable selection, followed by the Blackhawks game on WGN. They battled back to tie it, then lost in a over-overtime shootout. Oh well... they're pretty good this year. Last year was a panic watching them in the playoffs. This year may be better (stated at the risk of sounding like a Cubs fan...)
Raining today -- thank God. I was afraid we might go three days in a row without it. It feels like we're living in Louisiana, only colder.
Despite the wondermost weather, the kids are headed back to school. My youngest son is a senior at University of Illinois. And no, he didn't get in by virtue of my being a meddling Blago donor, he got in on his own grades. And my daughter is a grad student at ISU. They've spent the past few hours in a frenzy of Christmas decorating... the tree was done last night, but they insist on icicles on the rooftop eves and twinkly lights around the windows. As typical, they got about half way done, then called me for backup. So I begrudgingly helped them out. It's a lot easier now that I'm not a practicing alchoholic any more.
Well, the Bears are about to start up... the Bears were just one bus-crash away from having a chance today, but it looks like the Minnesota Vikings got to the stadium intact, so let's let the ass-whuppin' begin!
So we had some of Jewel's finest on-sale, thin-cut-for-your-convenience NY Strip steaks. Good value, but you'd never mistake them for a nice restaurant piece of beef. The red potaters made it a palatable selection, followed by the Blackhawks game on WGN. They battled back to tie it, then lost in a over-overtime shootout. Oh well... they're pretty good this year. Last year was a panic watching them in the playoffs. This year may be better (stated at the risk of sounding like a Cubs fan...)
Raining today -- thank God. I was afraid we might go three days in a row without it. It feels like we're living in Louisiana, only colder.
Despite the wondermost weather, the kids are headed back to school. My youngest son is a senior at University of Illinois. And no, he didn't get in by virtue of my being a meddling Blago donor, he got in on his own grades. And my daughter is a grad student at ISU. They've spent the past few hours in a frenzy of Christmas decorating... the tree was done last night, but they insist on icicles on the rooftop eves and twinkly lights around the windows. As typical, they got about half way done, then called me for backup. So I begrudgingly helped them out. It's a lot easier now that I'm not a practicing alchoholic any more.
Well, the Bears are about to start up... the Bears were just one bus-crash away from having a chance today, but it looks like the Minnesota Vikings got to the stadium intact, so let's let the ass-whuppin' begin!
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Change of Seasonal machinery
Started out the day with a mission in mind.
I'm not much of a "doer" on my days off, but I seldom have more than two days off in a row, and I get pretty twitchy on days like this -- it's my fourth in a row. Today's mission: the changing of the seasonal machinery. To wit: putting the lawnmower away and breaking out the snowmobiles for the upcoming sledding-and-drinking season.
The lawnmower is the easiest part, in that it has electric start. I have a zero-turn Everride Warrior -- a commercial-sized rider that cuts a 5-foot swath through my suburban jungle. I changed the oil, greased it up, stabilized the fuel for the winter, and rode it around the neighborhood to get all the new oil circulated and the fuel and stabilizer mixed. I rode it over to my neighbor Kent's house, where he was working on one of his race cars. (He's independently wealthy, retired at a jealousy-inducing age, and owns several cars and bikes.) Talked some shit about raccoons and skunks -- you know, the usual chitchat. He caught the neighbor's cat in his raccoon trap last week. We laughed about it -- we both hate that cat cause it hunts the songbirds -- then I put my Stetson back on, jingled my spurs and rode on home. (Or maybe it was just a Bass Pro-Shop baseball cap.)
I had shut off the fuel valve and planned to drive the mower into the garage just as the engine died -- with a dry carburetor. But it ran out of fuel before I even got back to my driveway, so I sat in the road, cranking away like a doofus, until it started again. The best laid plans, eh? Got her parked in the garage, where it will serve as a mouse condo until next spring.
Took a few minutes to watch Mike Rowe wrangle some alligators on Dirty Jobs. I love that show. I've had a few of those jobs in the past, but for the last few years I just watch my workers handle the shit end of the stick while I stay in the truck and do crossword puzzles. But as my mentor Tommy Fawkes often said, "The cream always rises to the top," to which I would always add "Yeah, but so does the slag..."
So next up, the snowmobiles. This will be the torture test... starting them requires some 20 or 40 pulls on the starter cords. I dislocated my shoulder a few months ago, and did a month of rehab to fix the damage to my rotator (sp?) cuff. You can't really pull the cord with your right hand, so my recently-recovered left shoulder will be put on the testing block. We'll see if the doctors and the physical therapists earned the money they got.
If not, I'll name them all in my next blog.
I'm not much of a "doer" on my days off, but I seldom have more than two days off in a row, and I get pretty twitchy on days like this -- it's my fourth in a row. Today's mission: the changing of the seasonal machinery. To wit: putting the lawnmower away and breaking out the snowmobiles for the upcoming sledding-and-drinking season.
The lawnmower is the easiest part, in that it has electric start. I have a zero-turn Everride Warrior -- a commercial-sized rider that cuts a 5-foot swath through my suburban jungle. I changed the oil, greased it up, stabilized the fuel for the winter, and rode it around the neighborhood to get all the new oil circulated and the fuel and stabilizer mixed. I rode it over to my neighbor Kent's house, where he was working on one of his race cars. (He's independently wealthy, retired at a jealousy-inducing age, and owns several cars and bikes.) Talked some shit about raccoons and skunks -- you know, the usual chitchat. He caught the neighbor's cat in his raccoon trap last week. We laughed about it -- we both hate that cat cause it hunts the songbirds -- then I put my Stetson back on, jingled my spurs and rode on home. (Or maybe it was just a Bass Pro-Shop baseball cap.)
I had shut off the fuel valve and planned to drive the mower into the garage just as the engine died -- with a dry carburetor. But it ran out of fuel before I even got back to my driveway, so I sat in the road, cranking away like a doofus, until it started again. The best laid plans, eh? Got her parked in the garage, where it will serve as a mouse condo until next spring.
Took a few minutes to watch Mike Rowe wrangle some alligators on Dirty Jobs. I love that show. I've had a few of those jobs in the past, but for the last few years I just watch my workers handle the shit end of the stick while I stay in the truck and do crossword puzzles. But as my mentor Tommy Fawkes often said, "The cream always rises to the top," to which I would always add "Yeah, but so does the slag..."
So next up, the snowmobiles. This will be the torture test... starting them requires some 20 or 40 pulls on the starter cords. I dislocated my shoulder a few months ago, and did a month of rehab to fix the damage to my rotator (sp?) cuff. You can't really pull the cord with your right hand, so my recently-recovered left shoulder will be put on the testing block. We'll see if the doctors and the physical therapists earned the money they got.
If not, I'll name them all in my next blog.
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Day After Thanksgiving -- African-American Friday
Last night we were goofing on a Menard's ad for the Black Friday crush... The ostensibly-home-improvement store had three different flyers in the high-priced placement of the day's Chicago Tribune newspaper.
We made great sport of the things Menard's is selling -- lumber, shelving units, water heaters and filters, the usual stuff. But the ancillary crap -- notebook computers, iPod accessories, kitchen appliances, pots and pans, summer sausage (Really? At a fucking lumber yard??) candies, Christmas cards... We had a great laugh.
The sale went from 6 a.m. to 11, so I said I'd set my alarm to make sure I didn't miss it...
Got up about 9, made it to the store by 10:30, and by God, half of the things I wanted were already sold out. And it wasn't like they only had a few items -- there were entire end displays vacated. Looked like a hoard of locust went through there... Mexican locust, by the look (and the sound) of things... Understandable, as the store is between Mundelein and Diamond Lake, Illinois -- a burgeoning nesting ground for our brothers from under the border.
Dumbest thing I ever did was to take "French" in High School. (But they speak Frenchola in Canada, which is where I was planning to go if that VietNam war had run on a few more years...)
Oh well. Anyway, I wasn't looking for quality stuff there, just the goofy gifts you get when you ask for goofy gifts for Christmas. I really don't shop the local lumber yards for quality electronics and kitchenware. I go to PetSmart for that stuff...
I hear a leftover turkey sandwich calling me, then I have a meeting at 1 p.m. -- my ass will be meeting my recliner, and I want to be there when it happens. Aloha.
We made great sport of the things Menard's is selling -- lumber, shelving units, water heaters and filters, the usual stuff. But the ancillary crap -- notebook computers, iPod accessories, kitchen appliances, pots and pans, summer sausage (Really? At a fucking lumber yard??) candies, Christmas cards... We had a great laugh.
The sale went from 6 a.m. to 11, so I said I'd set my alarm to make sure I didn't miss it...
Got up about 9, made it to the store by 10:30, and by God, half of the things I wanted were already sold out. And it wasn't like they only had a few items -- there were entire end displays vacated. Looked like a hoard of locust went through there... Mexican locust, by the look (and the sound) of things... Understandable, as the store is between Mundelein and Diamond Lake, Illinois -- a burgeoning nesting ground for our brothers from under the border.
Dumbest thing I ever did was to take "French" in High School. (But they speak Frenchola in Canada, which is where I was planning to go if that VietNam war had run on a few more years...)
Oh well. Anyway, I wasn't looking for quality stuff there, just the goofy gifts you get when you ask for goofy gifts for Christmas. I really don't shop the local lumber yards for quality electronics and kitchenware. I go to PetSmart for that stuff...
I hear a leftover turkey sandwich calling me, then I have a meeting at 1 p.m. -- my ass will be meeting my recliner, and I want to be there when it happens. Aloha.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
New Blog
To quote Steve Dahl, radio God of Chicagoland for the past 30 years, I've got nothin' to say, and I'm sayin' it. From time to time, I'll spout off about what's bugging me. Currently, it's the psychotic thieves that infest Springfield and Chicago's City Hall.
But tonight, in repose after a Thanksgiving meal fit for a King, I'm not in a bad mood at all. The family is watching White Christmas, the dog is snoozing, and there's a crossword puzzle calling my name. So away I go...
But tonight, in repose after a Thanksgiving meal fit for a King, I'm not in a bad mood at all. The family is watching White Christmas, the dog is snoozing, and there's a crossword puzzle calling my name. So away I go...
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