Some People Must Go To Hell
I left the farm and came to Northern VA to facilitate with paint the separating of two feuding Jr. BC's.
Mrs. BC said of course eat anything you can find but when people say that they don't really mean it. I am eating every damn thing. I am not at all responsible for what people really mean. They, the whole BC clan, were barely out the driveway on their way to holiday fun before I devoured the two pieces of pumpkin pie. And ohmydeargod, there's whipped cream in a can. It can get away from you but cleans up nicely.
Mr. BC, a giant of business and active participant in the raising of three adolescent boys, can't seem to understand why I won't do the little things he asks of me, like photo-documenting a damn gazebo, and delivering a damn electronic device to a man who will never use it (and the man said as much when I finally did deliver it.) Anyway, I frankly forgot about the device, being as I was in full seasonal descent into a depressive state of hibernation and temporary loathing of humanity in its entirety. As for the gazebo, well, my neat little camera ceased to work the minute I drove over it with the Jeep. He's probably wondering right now, reading this, well, are you at least feeding my fish?
You are dear limited readership possibly picturing this giant of business type, with his palatial homes, one, gated in the burbs, one in the country and one at the beach, finding his much deserved relaxation with his hobby, exotic fish, which he cares for in a tank that covers a whole wall. But actually what you will find is a fish bowl in his bathroom with one goldfish in it. Mind you, the bowl is a bit oversized and the goldfish is getting bigger over time so as to imply an actual living fish instead of one of those neat little toy fish in a fishbowl which simulate fishiness pretty well without exuding all that other organic matter, and for my money....
I only bring all this up about the fish so that I can say, yes, I'm feeding it. However no would be my answer to your question--is he doing well, is he happy, does he move around his cloudy bowl with happy reckless abandon? Do you think he misses me?
On a more cheerful note let me say this--I haven't killed the cats, yet.
In fact the cats are apparently warming up to me and for the first time in three years I have actually been permitted to pet one of them, FiFi I think. And while Pounce does not seem overwhelmed by his love for me, at least he doesn't cower in abject fear every time I enter the room. So that's some good news I think you will agree.
While we're on the subject of FiFi though I should like to ask is it normal for a big tuft of hair to be sticking out like something you are tempted to remove but in my case won't because I'm afraid of an arterial spurting over carpet and walls or the other thing I imagined possible was the deflating and whizzing about the room of a cat shaped air balloon?
Actually, don't worry about any of these things. Today is your day for feasting and relaxation with family and I know you never get a break from work because I can to my right see the middle one of your three gigantic flat panel moniters and it is keeping a running total of only one of your email inboxes and it shows this morning a total of 159 for the last two days or so. You may be the only person I know who gets more personal/business email in a day than spam, although I'm sure in many cases the difference between those two categories is nominal. You should tell some of those people to go to hell.
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