I have spent the last 40 minutes trying to access my gmail. Now from what I can gather, I do not exist. Good! First I will haunt Comcast and their 'not responding' shit. Then...oh wait, my list is too long. I have been trying to get my gmail restored for about a week now. If that isn't enough to sober a person up I don't know what is. And yet, sometimes I am miraculously transported to the land of gmail. So we went to the farm and picked pumpkins that Hunter had planted. Some squash too, butternut and acorn and what ever the spaghetti one is called. Then we pulled up all the vines and while Hunter was rototilling-I'd like to use spell check on this but when I click on it all I get is the quivery words [spell check] so perhaps I don't exist and spell check is afraid of me. I'm sorry, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the three shots of whiskey and a 7/7. So off Linda and I went on the green thingie into the cornstalks so I could get some to tie up around my lampost.
Whiskey - It's not just for breakfast anymore.