(Bear Grylls is the host of The Island.)
Yesterday, the Dragon Lady made pork and French fries for dinner. The meal was good. My family eats a lot of pig because beef is out of our price range. I washed the meal down with several glasses of generic cola. I'm quite the fat ass. I keep popping out of my clothes.
I watched The Island. I highly recommend the program. It's a lot of fun. The host of the show is Bear Grylls. Most of you probably know him. He's a survival specialist from Great Britain who's always wrestling alligators and jumping out of planes. Nevertheless, I think I could take him in a fist-fight. For a portly old bastard, I have mad skills. No kidding.
I paid homage to Christ. I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees. No big surprise. I'm not some filthy pagan. I read the bible every day. And there's one thing of which I'm certain. Even scoundrels can be close to God. Just look at the lives of Paul and Peter. In spite of their flaws, Jesus adored them. Take heart. Christianity revolves around grace and repentance. Supermen need not apply.
I went to bed at 10 p.m. I dreamed about booze. I was bar-hopping on Chimes Street in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I'm not sure if Chimes Street still exists. I don't miss alcohol in the least. However, I'd kill my mother for a cigarette.
I woke up at 6 a.m. and turned on Fox News. The Five discussed Hillary Clinton's campaign. Eric Bolling called her a genius. He says that her ability to escape numerous scandals is quite impressive. I don't know my ass from my elbow. Nevertheless, I just don't see Hillary getting the nomination. She remains vulnerable. Somebody will emerge to kick her sagging rump.
I read the paper while enjoying a bathroom break. The United States accidentally sent live anthrax to South Korea. Twenty-two people remain under quarantine. Fortunately, they aren't showing symptoms of the disease.
Anyway, it's time for the song du jour. Here's Rusty Cage by Johnny Cash. God bless.