Dick Season!
Wait, it wasn't Scalia? Oh. Well, goddammit.
Whittington's bloody lucky this little accident didn't happen the other way around, what with armed Secret Service lurking in the quail-blinds or what-have-you (no, I hunt not at all). His face may now look like chicken pox, as his daughter asserts, but it would more've resembled a basketball hoop of gore (thx layne) had the trigger-butterfinger-ization been inversed.
And yeah, I'm still alive, just bogged down w/ fifteen texts for three classes, with brain burdened by th'imposition of an odious academic lexicon I can't help but absorb some of. More about that later, I hope. For now, my love to you, the patient ones.
Whittington's bloody lucky this little accident didn't happen the other way around, what with armed Secret Service lurking in the quail-blinds or what-have-you (no, I hunt not at all). His face may now look like chicken pox, as his daughter asserts, but it would more've resembled a basketball hoop of gore (thx layne) had the trigger-butterfinger-ization been inversed.
And yeah, I'm still alive, just bogged down w/ fifteen texts for three classes, with brain burdened by th'imposition of an odious academic lexicon I can't help but absorb some of. More about that later, I hope. For now, my love to you, the patient ones.
posted by Sleeve Consequences @ 9:25 AM
2 Comments:
At 11:23 AM,
Deric said…
be vewy quiet.
i hunting wawyuhs.
At 9:16 AM,
Anonymous said…
Perhaps some clever birds have adopted the tactic of rapidly descending between two gunned hunters. Doubtful, of course: more likely, in the purple haze of shooter's bloodlust Mr. Cheney forgot the meaning of some obscure, secret hunting code such as, "On your right!", "I'm over here, Dick!", or "Hold your fire!"
My favorite theory, as usual my paranoid, self-centered own, is this:
"Do you want to to know how powerful I really am?"
Post a Comment
<< Home