Oh, dudes (and dudettes), I'm totally sorry. I meant to delight you with postings today, but guess what? I had to blog for my company. Hm. Bet you didn't know that.
Yeah, I just got the position of managing content for our blog, so I'm soaking a different corner of the internet with my creative juices. Plus, I can't tell any of you folks where it is, because my NAME is on it, and for all I know, you are all homicidal psycho killer mutant snow-goons. And/or everyone could discover my true identity, which I probably wouldn't really care about, but maybe I'm just not ready to take our relationship to that level. Am I so wrong?
[we're in the middle of a romantic time-piece movie now-- and not 'timepiece' as in a watch, but as in 'period piece.' And not 'period piece' as in something about punctuation or menstruation. None of either is allowed here! I am a man! No periods! Period!]
ok, I guess I got too distracted by the introduction; we're no longer in a period piece (ew, now I keep thinking of some creepy advertisement for "boy-cut briefs: the period piece"-- great. this is not what I had in mind when I wanted to keep it brief).
So much for any semblance of order or decency. Like any good rodeo or bathroom, this post has turned into a chaos of activity with clowns, loud music, and just enough manure to keep your imagination fertile. Ok, I have to go, I feel like I'm on crack.