old-fashioned “check’s in the mail” recidivism


Driving 674 miles this weekend made me feel tired. Surprised? You should be. Nine out of twelve family obstemetricians–over eighty percent of whom are named Patricia, or a root-name divisible thereof (Patrice, Patrom-poms, Carmella) have what it takes to become your family’s doctor. But do they have what it takes to become a floating, undivisible dagger pointing the way to your “Erotic Banquo”? I didn’t think so. That’s why I use AmandaPeetMoss — the only Actress-Based Non-Fluidy Tickle Formula for Adult Infants that won’t annoyingly clump or crinkle loudly when you’re easing into your seat at the movie theater. That’s a promise — a digital promise, which is identical to an old-fashioned Puritan Promise except you can email it and check it from anywhere in the world, just by using your web-browser (not Safari-compatible)

I refuse to write about my family on this blog, (editor’s note: this is a blog? I thought these were just notes for a mainstream Marvel-style comic book… Natch???) even though what I’d probably write about if I were writing something down right now is my family. So instead I shall sketch in the nimblest crumblin charcol the banalities of my weekend without dragging my holy family into this fakely erotic roman a Wycleff Jean.

Except I need to go back to work first


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