Thank goodness for that too, just in time... A 5 day working week is SO last month. I most definitely prefer 4. Next week it's 4 again. Can I have a "Hallelujah!"
Actually, I don't care if it's a "Hell Yeah!" or a "Hail Mary!" let's just get to the effing weekend now please. My brain has officially shut off and my arse is simply itching to get the fuck out of Dodge already.
Before the rain of frogs. It rained ash yesterday. I mean, all the signs are there. Tarty Farty Tequila Party did blog yesterday. I fear the approach of four individuals that have earned right to quote "Listen to my hooves!"
So, tonight the Hot Girlfriend and I might go watch a metal band. Tomorrow we might try to get ourselves to the Banned Rock Lounge by foot, sporting Tutus 'n' Tiaras, hopefully the apocalyptic mass of flailing limbs that is me running won't put too many people in ICU with humorous hernia injuries.
See, I've even run out of literary steam. Who'da thunk it?
Ok gang. Go forth and have yourselves a wunderbra weekend! Practice safe sex. Practice makes perfect.
I have this really uneasy feeling though. Like I've not actually written anything of substance and I need to do more. Complete block. Is this what happens when you take up running? What's next? Polly shorts? Or even worse, tights... *shudder*
Can you imagine the spectacle? I'm already not much more than a tongue depressor with a paunch...
See what I did there?
And because I can't choose, today you get 2.
NGDG: "No I don't want a newspaper or a coathanger. I have the internet and a pile of clothes on the floor."
NGotherDG: "Wetherley's may be closing down, a little bird tells me. Maybe I can get 2 R12,000 Faberge chairs for the price of 1. Recessions rock."
Spread The Love. Put On A Tutu And Join Us Tomorrow.
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