Ever in my incessant wanderings do I know that, when the mood strikes me to return to this den if iniquity, the MBT, unlike all else in this cold, harsh world, remains.
It is the fetid, three-week-old bloated-in-the-parching-sun-amidst-one-of-our-worst-drought-ever type remains, but remains it does.
Does it reek? Oh yes, but it's a familiar stench.
Nice to see y'all haven't changed a bit.
We, though, yes WE have. WE are moving up a state in about a month. What joy packing up 30 plus years of accumulated...stuff...only to have to UNPACK it again in a few weeks. whee But it will be nice living amongst the mountainous regions and lakes again, so there's that. And no mortgage will be nice, too. Working for one's self will have its advantages to be sure as well.
And you lot? You stew in your own juices of hate and vitriol and jolly sing-songs.
I weep for you.
No. I really don't. I miss you horrible little men and the few Ladies who grace you with their presence. Not presents - unfortunately for you lot. No. No presents. Just lumps of coal in YOUR stockings, yes indeedy.