Hooters

Apparently I've made the switch — and activated it. Henceforth here will be hindsought as the anew of a new phase; the second façadical opening in as many. Why should this be any different? Well, it looks slightly different. And it seems my options are limited somewhat; you may have noticed the lack of insightful italics below the links (and even when I plunged into a maze of aich-tee-em-el, I could not rectify this). Also, it's interesting and perhaps predictable to note that I'm currently falling well below last year's quota, and that figure only rose from null in the third month, its birth date. Now, either I could waste precious hand motions making up for this or sit back and let the whole thing slide. Most likely I'll opt the latter while pretending to do the former.

In other news, I'm sure there were much more important things discussed. Still, here it is. And, as all of my friends will testify, today was spent as a crusade for Sunny Boys, in the most literal sense possible. None of them, it seems, were willing to do the much more important things on the things-to-do. But can you blame them? You certainly can. Pricks. But we'll see whose fingers get stepped on on the cliff edge. And whose ears get twinged by passing bicycles. And whose industrial-strength bits and pieces melt off. They drink, they drive, they bloody form verbs from adjectives. Still, you've got to love 'em, don't you? No. Especially not the tiny one with the beard.

I'm sure their breath has more bait than every Pacific line while they're pouring over this. And it's worth every ounce. Long live long-livers.