Good Luck In The Indy 500
A headbutt to soothe your worries. And give you a headache.
First things first: thanks for the cigar. It is so prominently displayed I've already had Milton mutter, "that's a huge cigar" as he walked past.
And let's get this out of the way: you will know way more information that you wanted to know by the end of reading this.
I believe it's time for a life update. I usually don't do these other than the occasional "my weekend was better than yours" thing, but since there are masses upon hordes of people reading this now, I figured it was the right time to fill everyone in. Let those who are on the outside feel like they are on the inside, if only for the next 150 seconds.
I've decided to teach the dwarf in the TV (who's been rather silent recently. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that we stopped putting water out for him at night?) English. Since a lot of you couldn't use context clues (ahem....family) to determine that he is indeed Portuguese, and you can't speak fluent Portuguese like those of us at 8010, I feel like sending him once a week to a community college so he can learn English is only the right thing to do. Of course, the money for the class will come out of his paycheck, and since he doesn't get paid, well, he can work it off slowly. But now instead of having to translate what he says in Portuguese to English, he'll be able to speak in broken, half-assed sentences to you. Have fun with that.
Apparently I've been plagued with something called the "Kiss of Death". It's a very rare disease that strickens only a select few people every year. Some of the side effects are switching jobs, laziness, and a severe reaction to orange Gatorade. Please send your get-well cards and cash donations.
I have decided to become a running beast again. This was facilitated by two pictures of me (in my prime, no less) and the purchase of shiny new running shoes. Whether this goal actually happens is in question, because I've also purchased now-grass-stained keeper gloves in my ambition to become a world-class indoor soccer goalkeeper. Any advice on which goal to pursue will be listened to and then completely ignored.
Last weekend I got a tattoo. You might be asking, "well, what did you get?," to which I answer, "a tattoo you moron." As for the design, it is a dragon. But this is no ordinary dragon. This is a dragon with 8" claws scaling a tower in ancient Babylon while being pelted with small cows launched from giant bazooka that is being held by Oscar Wilde dressed in a loincloth. And before you ask, yes I did make sure that the dragon looked like Trogdor.
Misanthropopotamuses. Get them while they are hot. I apologize for not having a link to what exactly a misanthropopotamus is, but if I showed you, I'd have to kill you. Or at least give you a few icily cold glances when you weren't looking.
And oh yeah, I almost forgot. I'm getting married in November. All are invited. Bring food.
K bye.
First things first: thanks for the cigar. It is so prominently displayed I've already had Milton mutter, "that's a huge cigar" as he walked past.
And let's get this out of the way: you will know way more information that you wanted to know by the end of reading this.
I believe it's time for a life update. I usually don't do these other than the occasional "my weekend was better than yours" thing, but since there are masses upon hordes of people reading this now, I figured it was the right time to fill everyone in. Let those who are on the outside feel like they are on the inside, if only for the next 150 seconds.
I've decided to teach the dwarf in the TV (who's been rather silent recently. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that we stopped putting water out for him at night?) English. Since a lot of you couldn't use context clues (ahem....family) to determine that he is indeed Portuguese, and you can't speak fluent Portuguese like those of us at 8010, I feel like sending him once a week to a community college so he can learn English is only the right thing to do. Of course, the money for the class will come out of his paycheck, and since he doesn't get paid, well, he can work it off slowly. But now instead of having to translate what he says in Portuguese to English, he'll be able to speak in broken, half-assed sentences to you. Have fun with that.
Apparently I've been plagued with something called the "Kiss of Death". It's a very rare disease that strickens only a select few people every year. Some of the side effects are switching jobs, laziness, and a severe reaction to orange Gatorade. Please send your get-well cards and cash donations.
I have decided to become a running beast again. This was facilitated by two pictures of me (in my prime, no less) and the purchase of shiny new running shoes. Whether this goal actually happens is in question, because I've also purchased now-grass-stained keeper gloves in my ambition to become a world-class indoor soccer goalkeeper. Any advice on which goal to pursue will be listened to and then completely ignored.
Last weekend I got a tattoo. You might be asking, "well, what did you get?," to which I answer, "a tattoo you moron." As for the design, it is a dragon. But this is no ordinary dragon. This is a dragon with 8" claws scaling a tower in ancient Babylon while being pelted with small cows launched from giant bazooka that is being held by Oscar Wilde dressed in a loincloth. And before you ask, yes I did make sure that the dragon looked like Trogdor.
Misanthropopotamuses. Get them while they are hot. I apologize for not having a link to what exactly a misanthropopotamus is, but if I showed you, I'd have to kill you. Or at least give you a few icily cold glances when you weren't looking.
And oh yeah, I almost forgot. I'm getting married in November. All are invited. Bring food.
K bye.
posted by Rich @ 2:55 PM
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