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Sweet Buttery Fudgy Weekend!

Man, is there anything better than a three-day weekend?

(That’s a rhetorical question, of course. But, for you ultra-literals out there, the answer is: ‘Yes. Three things are better than a three day weekend.

1. A four-day weekend

B. A free case of beer, with a lobster dinner on the side

iii. Sweaty, lusty, chocolate-covered monkey love

That’s it. Just the three. If there’s anything else you think is better than a three-day weekend, then you’re mistaken. Get with the program, sparky.

Of course, like most people, I can only vouch for two of the three personally. I mean, really — how many of us have ever had a free lobster dinner and case of beer? Sheesh.)

Anyway, where the hell was I? Ah, the three-day weekend. Peachy.

Not so damned peachy that it’s about to be over, though. I’m not sure how I’ll adjust tomorrow, frankly. I’ve grown accustomed to my new schedule, what with the waking up at ten, and the showering at noon, and the… well, that’s all there was, really. Some eating, and some dribbling that you probably don’t want to hear about, but mostly sleeping and sitting on my ass. And it was tremendous.

But now, it’s all over. Tomorrow, it’s back to the grind — horrific stuff, too. Out of bed at eight thirty, for crissakes. And in the shower by nine. Nine! Nine thirty at the latest. Barbaric, ain’t it?

At any rate, all the lounging around has apparently turned my brain to mush. I got nothing tonight. So, I hope you had a nice, relaxing, lazy, long weekend. With lots of sleep, and free beer, and chocolate-covered lobster sex. Or whatever it was I wrote ten minutes ago. I can’t be bothered to look it up again. I’m on vacation, dammit. I’ll catch you later.