Bloody Thursday

I commented on a blog I'd never read before. It was a link from another blog I check frequently (I'll let you figure it out:). I think it's nice to let people know they have readers, and his entry about pipes and a loved grandfather stopped me cold. Here's a humorous, I think, aside I deleted from my comments to keep it brief and on target.

I chewed over a can of Copenhagen a day for twenty years, and the only good thing about quitting was being able to get away with giving some well deserved ass chewings at work by blaming the nicotine fits. They were spectacular, the type about which my seasoned old chief petty officer would say, "Lieutenant, that was a thing of beauty! You shoulda' been a chief." The withdrawal thing was a valid excuse, I wandered around Corbis for a couple weeks wanting to bite people. Not little nips like some powdered poodle, but great dripping bloody bites of steaming flesh in the ravenous manner of Tarzan, the way Burroughs really wrote about him.

I stayed in the office longer than I planned writing and reading blogs, and left a little after 6:30. The sun was about to set, and was vibrant red. Beautiful. Blood on the sun or moon! Oh, that's a bad omen. Bite me, I say. Oh it was just the sun shining through polluting particulate matter and gases. Bite me two times, ya' filthy reeking killjoys. It's beautiful, and you ain't.

There, I feel much better.
Sleep tight and have a fucking great night! : )