Today is one of those strange, dough-headed days. I woke up too late, observed the snow that was now getting a nice crust of ice on it from the rain, ate a peanut butter sandwich, and have yet to turn my mental crankshaft over once. Dough. Or, as I once remarked, "My synapses are filled with cotton and glue." Same difference.
Lots of people have asked me over the past several months, "What're you saving all that bacon fat for? It's disgusting, and you're some kind of freak."
And I replied, "You never know when you might need a trunk full of bacon fat. The imprisonment and humiliation of murderous extremists is just one of bacon fat's many uses."
Mediocre minds and all that. Who's disgusted now?
Abu, for one. I think he's got hives, which is just fine with me. Soon, it will be time for the pork hood, always a favorite.
Anyway. Don't expect much from me today.
Unless you pay me.
That would be nice.
