|Charlie, "You wish! You wish you could loaf like this, hoomin!"|
|Espresso, "What now, hoomin!? It's way too early, even for me."|
My hoomin can't loaf like I do, no matter how he wishes he could. So, I heard that the next best thing would be making the whole day into an art day. May as well. The storm will pass far away in the Gulf, and all we'll get is a bit of rain and wind.
I wish we could send some of that cool, wet stuff to Mr. Rabbits Guy. They are getting roasted in the North-West again.
We'll art all day because there's nothing else left to do. What cure is there for the dry heaves of blinding, mind-numbing disbelieve induced by watching La Florida become a mass casualty event? The Covid bus seems to be running down every, even slightly hesitant pheasant. It then backs up over them in slow motion, kids and all. Thump!
We'll keep you posted,