mthor

You think whoever would replace him and run a campaign of carrying on MAGA (as the Donald would have wanted) would be an improvement?

I hope they do miss. It's bad enough orange blood has been drawn - let's not see him made a martyr.

I really miss hard toothbrushes. Not for teeth, but for those odd little things and spaces that need to be scrubbed.

Enough money for a law team good enough to find out that the prosecutor and police screwed up. Let the civil suits begin!

https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/alec-baldwin-rust-case-suddenly-dismissed-over-withheld-evidence-its-a-complete-embarrassment-to-the-prosecutors-expert-says-192022322.html

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Today, I spent 4 1/2 hours with my husband. For context, that's the longest amount of time that we've spent within 200 yards of each other in over 20 years. I need a shot of Hawaiian Punch and a water glass full of Everclear. Edit: No ice, please.

ok?

I went to a nursing school run by Franciscan nuns. Although it was no longer the case when I attended, several of my instructors were alumnae - in their day, the nuns would bounce a quarter off the sheets to make sure that the beds were well made, and before the students were allowed on the floor, their clinical instructors would smack their butts to make sure that they were wearing girdles. This has been "Today in Ancient History." Please tune in again next week, when we discuss "How to Untangle Phone Cords."

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Thor was my nickname in nursing school. Nothing to do with the MCU (which wouldn't exist for decades), but chemicals were involved.

We watched some guy pull a playing card out of a banana. Then we switched to the debate. The guy with the banana has my vote.

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Damn. I was there for the beginning.

He's almost 40. He'd better figure fast.

Well, at least I got good insurance out of the deal

It's not slobbishness. It's an alternative organizational system.

Barely a handful of any parents. Buddy, Pat, odin, you, disco, me - there was one other mom, I think (no, not fuggs), and I'm not sure who the one with mental illness is, but this is obviously a low reproduction zone.

And ties. Don't forget the ties.

My father taught me how to make bread and Stingers. He taught me how to bait a hook and gut a fish, and how to draw blood. After I moved back up to my home town, we'd go out in the woods to pick blueberries every summer. I hated it. The mosquitoes were horrible, but I'd go anyway, because Dad asked, and because my stepmother worried about him out in the middle of nowhere. (He always had a cell phone, but he never turned it on.) The summer before he died, I'd stop by after work, and, maybe once a week, I'd ask if he was ready to go. Finally, he said, "I don't want to disappoint you, but I don't think I can do it." "I don't really want to go," I said. "I just didn't want to disappoint you, either." Miss you, Dad.

Six of one, half dozen of the other. She was a mean, bitter woman.

Caesar Romero. Fight me

After I moved back to my home town, my spinster aunt decided that it would be great to type up all of Grandma's recipes (my job, because computer). No problem - just give me the recipes. But no. She has to copy them by hand and give them to me, because I won't be able to read Grandma's writing. (Bitch, please. At this point, I've been reading doctors' handwriting for like 30 years. Unless Grandma was writing in Rapa Nui pictographs or cuneiform, I can read it.) I'm a bit perplexed, but ok. She had changed the recipes. I know, because I had gotten a bunch of them straight from Grandma before she died,and my aunt had changed them. I don't know where she hid them. We couldn't even find them when we cleaned out her house after she went to the nursing home. But she had totally screwed up about half of them. True story: she died about seven years ago, and to this day, grass will not grow on her grave.

Yeah, yeah, get in line. Next you'll be telling me that I can't have them pick up smokes and beer for me.

Cap'n Crunch.