My neighbor isn't feeling well. Of course, I bring her soup. Soup heals all. Gunshot wounds, paranoia, God-Falls-Off-Off-The-Easy-Chair-Cloud, the entire shiteree.
Garlic bread is a plus. I didn't include that. Wasn't sure how the: "guts were goin'." Never mess with a girl's entrails. Trust me, it ends badly. Primarily, I have no idea "how" they're constructed and connected. Secondly, if they're anything like mine, Shit can go sideways in a heartbeat.
My wife's entrails were tricky. All could, in a split second of an instant, go in every imaginable direction, with "no particular place to go" faster than any "greased lightning I ever heard/saw/felt." "Ow, ow and ow!" Do not be in-between her and said lightning.
I notice that my font has, inadvertently, switched. I'll fix that. For the moment, It's not bugging me all that much. One page of weird font? Who cares?
There's soup to eat and sleep to consider. I woke around 03:00. Full day. My left hip is bothering me and I would like a shot of brandy and a short beer chaser.
Got my Winter Haircut today. (Ah, my typeset is back. I'm out of FULL BOLD.) Damn these digital machines.
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