Not all serial killers are named Mel. Some of them even live near you. Make food deliveries to your place, and so on.
The last time I saw a decent review for a serial killer, it was about my Uncle Ed, a few years back now, and no wonder. Standards in the trade have radically declined in recent years.
Whatever it was that upset me last night seems to have crawled away and died. I can't tell by the smell though, I think. But something smells bad in here. Maybe the cat died again. He does that from time to time, the little scamp.
Before he died, and was buried, Dad said I should catch him if he ever got loose. I've been doing that ever since, about twice a week I'd guess.
Mom killed and ate a rogue tomato — said it attacked her. She don't mess around, Mom don't. It's how she kept us kids in line, the ones that survived. I'm still skittish around tomatoes to this day. And around Mom specifically.
Saw Dad again, running through the park, naked. Why? He never had this much fun while he was alive.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+snorp@gmail.com
Me? Still breathing heavily.
Etc...
so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals
