Driving 674 miles this weekend made me feel tired. Surprised? You should be. Nine out of twelve family obstemetricians–over eighty percent of whom are named Patricia, or a root-name divisible thereof (Patrice, Patrom-poms, Carmella) have what it takes to become your family’s doctor. But do they have what it takes to become a floating, undivisible dagger pointing the way to your “Erotic Banquo”? I didn’t think so. That’s why I use AmandaPeetMoss — the only Actress-Based Non-Fluidy Tickle Formula for Adult Infants that won’t annoyingly clump or crinkle loudly when you’re easing into your seat at the movie theater. That’s a promise — a digital promise, which is identical to an old-fashioned Puritan Promise except you can email it and check it from anywhere in the world, just by using your web-browser (not Safari-compatible)
I refuse to write about my family on this blog, (editor’s note: this is a blog? I thought these were just notes for a mainstream Marvel-style comic book… Natch???) even though what I’d probably write about if I were writing something down right now is my family. So instead I shall sketch in the nimblest crumblin charcol the banalities of my weekend without dragging my holy family into this fakely erotic roman a Wycleff Jean.
Except I need to go back to work first