I’ll tell you next week.
Assuming I’m able.
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Don’t worry, there’s plenty of pizza and pasta.
Still rippling.
You know, like an eel leaves when it comes to the surface.
Where’s the hidden camera?
What exactly is your game, mister?
The universe has got my back.
Despite any mild panic.
I want some of you to know this guy. Or even just one of you.
Fingers crossed.
I’ll trade you $35 for ten or fifteen thousand.
Or even less. It’s fine with me.
Do I dare?
Evidently, I do.
Here we go again. Again.
Dear Feastlings, Whether it appears that way to you or not, I’ve been chesting my cards lately. I’ll whine and complain in broad strokes, most certainly, but I don’t spill all the beans, as it were. I won’t give all the gruesome details of the three days running of no-call/no-shows, but I’m apt to guess […]
Prick up your ears.
…and tune into 89.1 FM.