I’ve Got More Tickets Than Muddy’s Got Blues

Look! Piles of them. Mountains, even. Mashed into the glove box and sticking out at the hinge.

Covering the floor like carpet, with mudprints and crumbs and Doritos stains. Down inside the seat beyond the reach of my fingers.

The date on this one reads,  “November 1, 2007,”   but I don’t even remember getting it.

It seems the city has wasted whole forests on me.

Jackie on the Run

I told her, “I just don’t trust anyplace that doesn’t have ‘Texas’ in the name.”

I mean, why would I? What has Oklahoma ever done for me? Or Kansas. Let’s talk Kansas. Can somebody sit down with me right here and now and explain Kansas to me? Kansas, simply, and Kansas, succinctly, in a way even I might understand?

Why, I heard there’s even a place called “French Lick, Indiana,”  although to tell you the God’s honest truth, I have some doubts.

A Hint of Areola

Three and a quarter years.

I have been writing this blog for three and a quarter years now.

Do you have any idea how long that is? Can you even begin to wrap your tiny brain around just how old that makes  “Lesbians in My Soup!”?

Three and a quarter years is longer than Jesus Christ’s ministry (and he never posted a single word!). It is longer than Kurt Cobain was famous. Three and a quarter years is longer than the lifespan of the American newt, and it is even longer than it took the ship to sink in that Titanic  movie back in the Nineties (and I feature 100% less Celine Dion).

Why, this blog is 62 years old in blog years!

Sententious Twaddle

I don’t have any words for you today.

All I have are these goofy manipulated photos of my face.

I hope that is okay. 

I promise I will bring some words for you next time. Until then, you are on your own...