Breeops?
Wine, Wine, Wine. I thought you didn't like Whine.
Keek.
I've never joined a blog before and now that I have it's like, oh. ok.
The problem with blogs is that I sit down to type, with my head full of... well... full of something, and then I start to type and realize that my head wasn't full of anything interesting - or if it was, it is now full of moldy squeeze cheeze, because that is approximately the sum total of what subsequently spews forth from thence.
I'm flying to Ohio in less than a week. Well, I suppose the airplane is flying. I'll just be sitting in the newly revised and "comfortable"cabin developing leg cramps, DVTs, and various bacterial infections from the sundry allotment of roughly humanoid creatures seated around me staring hypnotically into the screens of their laptop devices and releasing toxic bacteria which thier bodies would kill easily if they ever got off of their somewhat enlargated posteriors and participated in activities (procluding, of course, running for 20 minutes, because we all know what danger that imposes).
Don't worry, though (like you were...) because I have a good goal in going to Ohio. I feel relatively confident that upon arrival, I will be able to find at least one good host body for my newfound friend, Mr. DeadlyBacteria. My mission, which I have chosen to accept, is to arrive at the airport, successfuly negotiate the maze of death to the rental car company counter, constructively convey concrete cash or card transactions to redeem diminutive automobiles from the eeeevil clutches of the Avis demons of destruction, drive defensively, yet dangerously down the freeway to the first university town that I come to, and infect the first 27 year old female that I come across (provided that she rocks the hizouse). Upon infection and verification of proper commencement of bacterial growth, I must then drive frantically, following fairly straight-forward directions to return the car of doom and defamation to the demons of devilishly delightful surcharges. At said point, I will pay the surcharges that were never mentioned until said point in time, and then proceed to check in at the airport, where I will pay an additional surplus of surprising surcharges. The next task will be to navigate the strip-search section of silly security and rush irrationally to the gate, only to find that my flight has been cancelled due to me being scheduled to fly on it.
Then again, perhaps that wouldn't be too bad, becuase at this point, I could return to the aforementioned university town and nurse the aforementioned rockin' 27 year old back to health and wellness.
The End.
posted by Braden @ 3:55 PM
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