I got another draft of my play done and so Mrs. Wigglebottom and I went out to see what was up in the world before I go over to Brittney’s in order to do a little investigative reporting into how closely Chez Bez resembles Christopher Meloni. Happily, she’s told me not to bring anything, because I spent all morning at the grocery store looking for some free range grapes, but you know they keep those fucker just shackled together! No grape is free to grow on its own but is confined to a cruel bunch. Alarming.
Anyway, Mrs. Wigglebottom is now slowly and languidly licking her cooter. I wish I could return from a nice walk, come in and bend over and “refresh myself” but alas, I am no contortionist.
In other news, I’m thinking of starting to read my posts aloud and posting MP3s of them for easy download just so that one day, Sarcastro can be alarmed to find his kids listening to me talking about wanting to lick my own cooter. Good fun.
These steps don’t go anywhere anymore. I find that vaguely disheartening. There used to be a house there and now there’s just a fence and a berm holding back the interstate.
Girl and dog shadows.
I wonder what it means if a dog sees her shadow?