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View My Stats, bitch.
Recipe for retarded dogs: Take two bad dogs. Reduce air temperature by ten degrees.
I have had a run of good luck lately that scares the crap out of me. Examples: I got a very nice annual bonus, I am going to get a nice income tax refund, and I got a bonus for inventing something (I am an innovationeer, after all), and yesterday I found out that the company that had warrantied (I don't know if that's a real word, but I'm in a dangerous mood so I'm letting it go!) my washing/drying machine has finally given up, is admitting that it was a piece of crap to begin with, and is paying off the depreciated value of the appliance.
This is where, if I thought anyone who reads this is as stupid as I am, I would add a caveat that no one should ever, ever buy an Italian-made laundry processor (one machine washes AND dries) because they are pieces of shit. But since few people fly by the seat of their pants quite as unsuccessfully as I do, there's no need for the warning. Let's just say that the Equator 3600 owes me big for having allowed it to squat wetly and unproductively in my kitchen for 4 years and I will dance upon its grave with great joy. Or, as part of my white trash campaign, I will move it to my front porch and plant something in it. It will look great next to the screen door that's still leaning against the side of the house. Maybe I can use it as a rabbit hutch or a chicken coop.
There's something I've been wanting to tell the world for a long time. The word is SUPPOSEDLY, not SUPPOSABLY. Come on, world. Pay attention.
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