Barnacle

I am still.

I am stationary.

I am sedentary.

Yes, my children, I have done nothing today.

Nothing of note, at least.

I sat in my air-conditioned Bat-Cave, reading comic books, watching television, drinking Wild Turkey, and intermittently fondling myself.

Oh, I did some laundry. Laundry was done. Including washing my bedsheets, because they were redolent with the smell of Deep Woods Off (TM) and ball sweat on this day. Yup, I only have one set of sheets. I am Rugged, Manly, and far too lazy to purchase alternate bedsheets. Thread count be damned. I think my sheets have a thread count of five. Or seven. The fact that I'm even the least bit familiar with "thread counts" is embarrassing. Forget I mentioned it.

I got a turkey sammich and several bottles of Powerade delivered, because it was Too Damn Hot to venture outside. I even skipped The BAG tonight (which is only slightly out of character) because it was Too Damn Hot to venture outside. I chose to watch "my shows" (Entourage, Family Guy, Supergroup, Lucky Louie, Tourgasm, Web Junk, Adult Swim-God damn, there's a lot of good shit on Sunday nights...) and noodle around on my bass in lieu of interacting with the unwashed masses.

I clung to my bed like some unholy Party Barnacle (great band name) and did nothing.

It was glorious.

I haven't even bothered to blog about my trip to Maryland, like I said I would. The more time that passes, the less inspired I feel to chronicle the events of last week.

"The Chronicles of Shawnia."

"The Bourbon, The Bass, and The Asshole."

Fuck it.

I know how rad Maryland was. Noelle knows how rad Maryland is. That's all that matters. On this day.

I have more comic books to read...


Get back to work, Eric*...






* Look at that-I referenced you in my blog. Made your fucking day, didn't it?

I thought so.

First round at The BAG is on you this Saturday, dingleberry.