German Dance

The sleepies are upon me. You've been warned.

In discussion with Flynn, we just came to the perfectly reasoned conclusion that changing our socially constructed image of "woman" to include audibly farting in public, allows us to get on lifeboats with impunity. Turns out, allowing farting negates the "women and children first" rule.

It's a harsh trade, but fair. Also - I don't swim so well.

Grape jelly on fried eggs is disgusting on many levels. Initially, I was just revolted by the consumption of the reproductive by-products of Asian jungle fowl, however, Flynn's insistence on being a Canadian redneck has added a whole new level of "uck" to your basic over-easy on toast. The smell is a mixture of grease, slightly burnt bread, and a lifetime of socialized medical care.

Apparently, there is a condition that cats get called "fatty paw." At least, this is what one of my Twitter friends tells me. I believe her, because I have succumbed to the illusory sense of friendship that the internet creates. Because we have been sharing 140 character posts for a few months now, I am convinced that we are "friends," when in reality, this 35 year-old woman could be a 60 year old man with a penchant for buggery and a hook for a hand. Actually, that could explain some of "her" typing errors...

It is clearly time to sleep. Workout buddies will be here in less than 5 hours to sling kettlebells about. I have done entirely too much reading of sociological theory over the last few days. Marx and Weber are dancing in my head. Wearing lederhosen. JUST lederhosen. And those little green felt hats. Weber has a feather in his, but Marx eschews the trappings of the petit bourgeois.

Now I'm worried that said Twitter friend might read my blog and be hurt. Or, perhaps "he" will soon come for me - "I found your blog. You know too much... now I have to kill you. Bend over."

I just had a sandwich - two slices of cracked pepper vegan cold cuts on vegan wheat bread, with vegan cheese, vegan mayonnaise, and the special ingredient, vegan love... Oh yes, there is such a thing. And it doesn't cause suffering. Or harm the environment... but you should still recycle when you're done.

And I'm done. Sleep is for me now. I'd like to say I'm sorry for all this, but I can't. Or rather, won't. And I'm not going to feel bad about it, either. I am unrepentant. Appropriate, for a guy who calls himself "His Sinfulness," no?