A perfect blend of catch and skiff here. Enjoy Moby Dick via the interpretive genius of one Aaron Francis, D.V.D., one of my four adopted sons (AQ, JA, PR, you know who you are). The degree letters are for AF to decipher. [Hats off to my virago daughter (definition 2, por supuesto) for the link.]
Dave, Dave, Dave. You bait me with this:
Now I am plagued by unclean thoughts.
- Is the photo dirty or has she been rolling around with the zebras?
- I thought zebras were herbivores. Looks like this one ATE HER BOOBS.
- What could one do with an octopus? (sweater-wise, I mean, you pervs.)
- How long would it take to knit the matching leggings?
Went to the Bayou City Farmers Market this morning. Nice produce but astrorganically priced. (I'm copyrighting this word.) Okay, it's possible that my love of word coinage leads to hyperbole. Stuff is probably no more overpriced than Whole Foods or Central Market. But I won't pay for that kind of wholesomeness every week. Just won't do it.
Will you look at the time? I've got to get back to the shit on my list...