ssǝɹddns ɹou ɹɐǝɟ ɹǝɥʇıǝu plnoʍ ʎʇǝıɔos ǝǝɹɟ ʎlnɹʇ ɐ ʇɐɥʇ ƃuıʇnɔolɯnɔɹıɔ suıɐʇuoɔ ǝʇıs sıɥʇ



Monday, October 29, 2012

Sandy: Yawn!!!

Even though the folks with the million dollar radar arrays were trying to tell us that the Mayans were off by a few weeks, ain't no death and destruction anywhere near here. Go figure.

And here, being an obedient sheeple, I went and snagged all of those much-needed hurricane disaster supplies: newspaper, smokes, beer, hoddog buns and a used Outlaws CD.


Wifey's killer, 5-pound Yorkie was scared out of it's wits. Hiding in Yorkie Dome, it is. Well, then again, we're talking about a dog that fits neatly into my work boot and that just happens to be afraid of rabbits. And sudden noises. And sudden movements. Sunlight. Darkness. Uh, and it's own shadow.


And I'd like to personally thank the Mayor for that 9 P.M. curfew. Thanks entirely to him, there will be no hurricane bikeabout this time around the disaster bend.

Whoa! The lights are flickering. The wind is freaking howling. Ain't no room for Markie in Yorkie Dome (a converted cat toy).

All that's left now is to wait for Frank Sorick's post-disaster hooliganisms when the lights come back on.

G'nite

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