2004-11-23 - 9:05 a.m.

'ello! Ow R Ou? I'm freezing my fucking ass off. Which, you know, has only been a theme in this here journal since MY VERY FIRST ENTRY. Which I suppose shouldn't surprise me. I lived with Professor Coldheart then, and I continue to do so. God, that feels like it was only 180 entries ago. Oh wait - that's because it was. And yet all you fuckpods all cry and gnash your teeth when I don't update quick enough with, "I need something to read! Wahhhh! I accidentally lit my new Reader's Digest on fire and now I'll never get to read about how sexy Susan Sarandon is!" Well, unless you're Andrea, Kate, or Hannah, chances are you haven't read ALL of the entries. So blargh to you. I say thee blargh. But we just got internet back. So I suppose that's a blessing. Or is it salad dressing? I can never keep those two things straight.

Did I mention it's difficult to type because my knuckles have ice on them? I did? Anyway, I just woke up from a dream in which I was at Patrick's in a 3-piece suit trying to fry some mozarella sticks in the fryalator without splashing hot grease on my suit. And Rick was rousting about throwing things in the bubbling grease in an effort to get me all hot grease speckled. Which is odd for several reasons. #1 - Why I so dressy? Well - probably because I tucked my shirt in for work yesterday, which is about as rare as me eating mayo. No - rarer. #2 - Why was Rick trying to scar ME with hot grease, when historically it was always ME that was trying to scar HIM with hot grease, knives, rabid chinchillas, etc. #3 - I pretty sure the hot grease/burning comes from the fact that my father is convinced that I'm going to burn the entire town of Rollinsford to the ground with the Bayou Classic. He saw a news report about turkey fryers being dangerous, which he now is regarding as a precognitive flash and is hellbent on me using a HazMat suit whilst frying the turkey. Both of my parents are very vexed that "Voice of Reason" Waldi won't be in charge during the frying. I don't think Waldi would so much go for the fryer even if he was going to be here. It's about 1,000 degrees hotter than he usually likes things. So yeah - weird dream.

Holy crap on a cracker! Guess what?! Nevermind, you'll never guess - Megan Taft came in to visit the G last night! I do declare! It's been several moons and a few more dog's ages since I've seen that ol' Taft! She introduced me to her girlfriend Sarah. And no, I don't mean her friend that happens to be a girl. What is it with the name Sarah, huh? She asked me if we had any bicylce riding fish toys, and I had to tell her, sadly, that we did not. She went to Megan Broadhurt's wedding this summer in Vegas. Vegas?! Hot dog! Though, I suppose that means Megan Broadhurst isn't named Broadhurst anymore. Hmmmmm. I should have asked her what the new name was. Oh well, I'll find out later. But anyway, yeah, Megan Taft! Huzzah! I was very happy to see her. And Andrea just happened to be in the store shopping for Todd so she got to see her too. Seriously, huzzahs all around. I got Taft's new e-mail and perhaps I will actually e-mail now. We shall see.

Well well well - what. a. fucking. suprise. I ask people to leave in the comment section what their holiday plans are and all we get is some sort of Jersified apetastic transient leaving comments about how she's having trouble teasing her hair just so. Or something. Well, you freaks asked for it. Now I have to send out some big mass e-mail asking everyone what their plans are and Roy will get all bent out of shape since it will require her to type, and KP we get all bent out of shape because it will require her to make contact with someone outside of Canton, and Rick will get all bent out of shape because he accidentally will reply to all and in the process make a very off color joke about Tim Curtis and then we'll have a race war on our hands. A race war for Christmas. I hope you're all fucking happy. You wrought this. Meanwhile, lil' April continues to squeal over the fact that I was able to work the word, "apetastic" into the narrative.

Farewell Kapler, my sweet Kapler. And so the change begins. No, not puberty - but the dismantling of the 2004 Sox. I mean, I know this isn't gonna be a firesale, like after the Marlins won - the first time - but it's gonna be tough. If I'm distraught about Gabe "Men's Health" Kapler leaving, it's only gonna get harder. But at least he'll be playing in Japan now, with his self-annointed "agressive" playing style. And I hear they have good food and Japanese girls there, so I mean, it can't be all that bad. Plus, they'll go crazy for his very American oversized jaw. Tell Mothra I send my regards Kapler.

Well, in other news I'm freezing. And I need to go meet my dad to get the Bayou Classic and then I need to go to work so I can pull a double. Baby, this is what dreams are made of.

It's been real,

Fergus

ps - New poll. The last one? Um - like 25 people said save the goat, 10 said shave it, 8 were clueless I had one. Which begs the question - why did Fred vote 8 times?

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