(History is coming alive.)
Yesterday, I prepared pork and French fries for dinner. The fries were made completely from scratch. The meal was delicious. My eldest son James-uh raved about the flavor. He ate every morsel on his plate. I washed the vittles down with a bottle of soju. The experience was heavenly.
I watched the latest episode of Hannibal. The doctor reaches out to Francis in a bid to stay relevant in the public eye. He asks Francis to murder Will's wife and step-son. The psychotic readily takes a shine to the gruesome task. But Will's wife is a resourceful woman. She manages to save herself and her boy. The end.
I paid homage to the Christ God. I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees. No big surprise. I'm not some dirty pagan. I asked Jesus to help the Dragon Lady. At this moment, she's high on rage. And the Korean family provides no help. They merely enable her outrageous behavior. But what goes up must come down. I hope she manages to land on her feet rather than pulling a crash and burn.
I went to bed at 11 p.m. I had a strange dream. I was at a friend's house. His wife was there, too. I asked them many questions. But they paid no attention. Instead, they kept slurping soup from their bowls. I left the house crestfallen.
I woke up at 7 a.m. and turned on my laptop. A car bomb exploded in Baghdad. Thirteen people were killed. ISIS is taking credit for the deadly blast. Muslims are by far the craziest bastards on the planet. They won't be happy until they butcher us all. ISIS needs to be eradicated. The group poses an existential threat to our species.
I read the paper later in the day. Victims of the black death were found in London. Their bones were discovered in a pit underneath the Liverpool subway stop. Scientists will investigate the remains of these unfortunate victims. For some strange reason, I find this news exciting. History is about to come alive.
Anyway, it's time for the song du jour. Here's Tennessee Whiskey by George Jones. God bless.