cinquante millions de gens imparfaits, et moi, et moi, et moi…

Natacha recently brought up the subject of having a kid again. At first I was totally onboard with the idea, because they way I figured, it would guarantee I’d get to have some sex. Turns out I was wrong about that because, as she was very quick to point out, it only really guaranteed she’d get to have some sex.

So now I’m indifferent.

I was going to take a laxative last night, but I didn’t because, constipation aside, I feel like already have enough shit to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Lightening the load may not be all that bad an idea.

Quick show of hands: when you read the words “fish taco” in my last post, who else immediately thought of Cindy?

Yeah, me too.

I’ll be leaving for Biloxi in a bit. There’s a used car salesman convention going on that sounds like it’d be fun to crash. And by “fun” I mean “I don’t have a choice.” There is an open bar, though. There better be.

Tonight is Hawaiian Shirt Night.

Seriously.

So, yeah. That’s how it’s going to be.