(Tom Brady's a cheater.)
Yesterday, I took my eldest son to a restaurant. We ate fifteen dollars worth of friend chicken. The poor kid had a miserable time. He says that I don't eat fast enough. He's probably right. I washed the vittles down with a pitcher of Cass beer. Cass is my favorite brand. The experience was heavenly.
I watched an episode of Strain. The program's quite gross. Little blind spider children are roaming the streets of New York. They're too fast to be hit by bullets. Plus they can rip your face off with their giant tongues. The best way to kill them is to blow their little heads off. But it's nearly impossible to get them to stand still. Strain is OK. I've seen worse shows.
I paid homage to the Christ God. I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees. No big surprise. I'm not some dirty nihilist. I asked Jesus to help the Dragon Lady. She literally has no control over her emotions. One minute she's laughing, and the next she's crying. I rarely call these days. Her hateful shrieking sends chills down my spine. Poor old Smith is a basket of nerves.
I went to bed at 11 p.m. I didn't dream. I woke up at 10 a.m. and turned on my laptop. Tom Brady's suspension has been lifted. The NFL simply didn't present enough evidence to sway the judge. But let's be honest. Brady and the entire Patriots organization are low-down cheaters. They've been caught before. And mark my words. They'll get caught again.
I read the paper later in the day. Female sailors in Korea are now allowed to serve on submarines. The world's moving too fast for my taste. Fags can get married. Women can become pastors. And even lady-boys can get their own reality shows. Will the madness never end?
Anyway, it's time for the song du jour. Here's My Best Friend's Girlfriend by The Cars. God bless.