"LIZ-ARD LICKS HIS EYE-BALL."

I'm frantically eager to write something this morning. Nothing of consequence, mind you, but something that I can at least validate as a stipend of my own thought, the dull inkling of mental capacity that I have stored up somewhere in my relatively snug cranium.

[Editor's Note: Ha. I just received a piece of spam with the subject title of "peepee growth." Also front-runners in the subject box were, "Screwme PLease" and "INTERIORDESIGNERYOUARENOW." Mind you, their titles was not nearly as grammatically correct or sound as the first, but I thought it was a meritous effort from all three nonetheless.]

Despite the fact that medicinal necessity has left me poked, prodded, and pining for blood this morning, I'm in a realistically sound mood. The prospect of my older brother visiting on Friday is a nice twist to scenario, as is the idea that I have a mere five days to wait until PA, New York City, and all the glorious things that go along with that: Michael Time, Gerard Time, etc. (Although similar in sound, I assure you that "Time" with these two men is vastly different in its content and disposition. In every essence of the word "different." Promise.)

I know that there are most certainly other factors accumulating to form my rather good-natured energy and positive force at the moment, I'm just not exactly sure what those factors have been spun of.

Also, and MOST DEFINITELY a factor of my recent mood, I've managed to catch Burt Bacharach's latest televised endeavors via the Geico commercial where he plays a little ditty about lizards licking eyeballs and getting rear-ended (Dirty!) and such. Contrary to popular belief, it basically validates my existence.



Alright.
I'm good.