Looks like tomorrow is destined to be a snow day.
I may not even venture into Boston.
Yeah, we’re talking about an ‘effin Nor’easter.
On the menu: snow blowing, cigars and cooking some risotto.
The little one and I may go see a movie (Sweeney Todd) in the afternoon if I can take care of the expected snowfall.
Lord knows, my snowblower is hungry . . . bow, bow, bow.
As of right now, school has already been canceled.
No need to wear the PJ’s inside-out.
I’m going to bed tonight with the glee of a high-schooler.
No school. No work. (with the exception of snowblowing the stoopid white shit)
How strange is that?
Yeah, I’m gone.
And now for something completely different . . .
from the Associated Press:
A man who mailed a cow’s head to his wife’s lover was sentenced to probation and community service. The man, Jason M. Fife of Hunker, “understands that in a civilized society a person cannot send a severed cow’s head to anybody,” said his lawyer, Henry Hilles.
The police said Mr. Fife, 31, obtained the cow’s head from a butcher’s shop, claiming he wanted the dried skull for decoration. Instead, he mailed it, frozen, so as not to alert parcel carriers to the contents, police said.
Wow, talk about a head “fetish”.
And now for something completely different and equally disturbing.
“I thought I was dreaming,” a Warsaw man told the newspaper Super Express after he visited a brothel and saw his wife among the establishment’s employees.
The paper said she had told her husband that she worked at a store in a nearby town.
The couple, married 14 years, are divorcing.
What a freekin’ surprise.
Off to make snow angels . . .
It was so cold this morning (2º, to be exact) that I saw a politician walking across Boston Common with his hands in his own pockets.
Seriously, it’s friggin’ cold up here.
I’m not complaining, just stating a fact.
But what really frosts my junk are the people that feel a burning desire to remind me just how cold they are with their witty and unoriginal-as-shit banter.
“Cold enough for ya?”
Man, I love that one. Never hear it before either.
No, it’s not cold enough for me.
I love it when my testicles turn a bright navy blue, fall out of my scrotum and shatter on the ground like Christmas ornaments.
And I really love it when I can’t feel my face or my legs. That’s great.
I like it even more when I break off a key inside a padlock preventing me from opening the store where I work and then I freeze my everloving ass off waiting for the too busy locksmith to come and sawzall the goddamned locks so I can get in. (truth)
So, is it cold enough?
Damn it, dude, shut the hell up and go build an igloo. Step AWAY.
Yeah, it’s cold enough for me.
The temperature dips into single digits and people just fill up with all kinds of stupid.
And yes, I can hear you.
Why don’t you and the wife move to Florida?
I’m sitting here on Christmas night with not much of anything to blog about but I’ve had a wonderful Christmas and I can’t help but wonder why.
I’m thinking it’s because I am loved.
The girls and Pamela are watching “Hairspray” and laughing and all things considered, my life is good.
I am the richest man in town at this moment.
I thank all of you dearly for leaving such wonderful comments.
Tomorrow is a very special day.
21 years ago tonight, I was driving my lovely and very pregnant wife to the hospital for the birth of our first little girl.
Sarah is 21 tomorrow.
Good God, time flies . . .
Please leave a warm wish or some sage advice for her.
Merry Christmas everybody!
And yes, it’s snowing on my blog tonight.
How apropos is that?
Happy Birthday, Sas!