juke joints

I’m sort of fried right now so please forgive me that the blog hasn’t been too active in the last few days. It’s been a bit crazy.

I found this site through Brittney G’s fancy new blog in San Francisco.

Big city, little town, it’s all the same.

How can I get on the front page?

Many of you may, or may not as the case may be, have been wondering about my social exploits around Hoots with my buddies SQ and Badger.

Well the reason isn’t very sexy and I hate to admit that I’m not being all cool and hip but there are two realities here:

A long tiring day.
A kind of day that complete sentences are not something I can do.
And yet I think of Badger Beth. Because when badgers destroy a coffin, I think she is somehow involved.
Oh, and yeah, Zombie Elvis is drinking beer again and watching hoops.

Juke joints are an odd thing.
Read this for your politics [...]

I want you to know, finally, I’m off the steroids. I haven’t killed anyone, no one has been maimed and I’m feeling much better albeit as weak as a Gallup Poll on primary day.

Ahh, bronchitis, how you thwarted me this past ten days. (Bronchitis is a bitch, my friends. Bronchitis is the new black for me at least.)

Whupped. Beat. Tired.

Yeah, I’m either observant or whiny depending on what you read in today’s horoscope for Libras. (It’s what it said. I’m not making this up.)

But, with that said, all is well in Comaland.

But I’m not getting this. Not at all. Could someone explain?