Yes, and if you can believe that, would you also accept as fact, concrete is being poured in the rain, near by me, as I sit next to the reptile shop while I await my dental appointment?
It’s true. There are or, were (now they’re gone inside), men, waiting outside the gun shop, for it wasn’t yet open when I started my wordings in this blog for today.
Earlier on another phone I wrote an email and snapped it off in disgust at how crappy my internet service is. Does there not seem to be anything to be happy and content about at all until you begin to get or try to get on the net log a mac-hine, on, only to get frustrated at least, or fully flustered, royally pissed off, because of this rectal feeding red hot fire poker shoved into the hinter-lands of the unspeakable? What is up with that? Why is the world so damn retarded this way and why can’t I find a can of Horchata Rock Star, or, why didn’t I look when I was in the Super Market just before my latest snack grab?
It’s probably easier to do in the wet. Pour concrete that is. Or, wait for guns, back to pictures of reptiles on the broken glass windows of the jurassic bit store behind you as you sit comfortably on a rather flexi wood slat bench, yeah. Yeah especially when the cement mixer truck comes by closer to pour more concrete. That smell. The noise and mess. The smack slap bloop bap pop. Get a 2X4 ready and smooth all that redimix flat! Let’s go to the hardware store next and pick up a smart remote control for the garage door opener which in my car is working so intermittent of late. So very annoying. And let’s drop off some milk bottles and go see a film.