Tired.

[captainsblog]

Will be soon, anyway. Four of them, for Eleanor's truck. I did bring the computer to get work done, but managed to forget the file I'd planned to do work on, and also forgot my phone and, worse, the headphones. Which means I'm being subjected to nonstop OMGIreneApocalypse on the ubiquitous waiting-room teevee, punctuated only by screamer commercials.

It's perfectly lovely here, and the storm is hundreds of miles from both us and the Gulf, but the first gas station I drove by this morning took the opportunity to jack its prices by 19 cents a gallon since last night. Thanks a butt-ton, J. Paul Getty. Guess I'll get gas on the way home before the rest of the conscious parallelism catches up.

I'm waiting to hear the first nutball to claim that the storm's track is retribution on New York for passing gay marriage. C'mon, now; would God pick a storm named after a Broadway musical star to do that?

Might as well dance edit.

Comments

[bill_sheehan.livejournal.com]

Let's listen to Kent Brockman:

"Hordes of panicky people seem to be evacuating the town for some unknown reason. Professor, without knowing precisely what the danger is, would you say it's time for our viewers to crack each other's heads open and feast on the goo inside?"

[mayiwrite.livejournal.com]

dance. STET