This Won't Be Pretty

I been in communication with this dame who thinks writing a b**g about writing a b**g would be enlightening. I don't think so. Let's see:

Hoss awakens at 6:45 a.m., and wonders whether to have breakfast, read the paper, or write the b**g. Goes and takes leak instead.

Having read the newspaper, I am still adrift for a topic. These things came to mind:

1. Beat up on Dubya.
2. Beat up on the Duke lacrosse team.
3. Beat up on the oil barons.
4. Rewrite Aesop's Fables.

Hoss awakens at 10:15 a.m., having had his power nap. Feels empowered. Is actually powerless. So he powers down.

I checked out several magazines for a topic. National Geo is short on boobies. Discovery is short on discoveries. Oregon Realtor is long on $500,000 homes. And so the decision is made to write about mad cow disease.

Shit. You don't know anything about cows, insane or not. This is not going to work. Overs.

So I go all Instant Messenger to the dame mentioned above. She says, "You know, it's funny, but have you noticed how Thanksgiving always falls on a Thursday?"

Gee, out of the mouths of babes. (And, boy, do I mean babe. Hoo boy.) So now I'm set for a topic -- the start of the Christmas season.

Tomorrow I will be writing about Christmas. Perhaps.

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My favorite word today is worry. N., toil and trouble. Def.: Descriptive of what you're doing about tomorrow and today isn't even over yet.