Things have taken a grim turn at the McEnroe storm redoubt. The pizzerias aren't delivering and the men are reduced to desperate forays out back in the darkness and gale-force winds to scavenge non-alcoholic beers from the over-drifted porch cache as the blizzard claws at the siding.
The food situation is becoming awkward. Certain parties have been caught staring at the plumper nieces and nephews and fingering the matched set of Ginsu carving knives on the kitchen counter.
I will try to keep this journal going for as long as my last real beer holds out.
I'm saying a prayer, John, I'm saying a prayer for the whole world...
We’re all Doomed. Yawn
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Almost as surprising as the downpour’s intensity was the rush by agencies
in this space to conclude it was caused by the bogeyman apparently driving
all na...
1 hour ago
1 comment:
Memo, try to keep all grandchildren, nephews and nieces away from Richard until said snow has disapeared.
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