The Butcher is on the phone with the Curly Haired Blonde. She called about ten minutes ago. I assumed he’d hung up, since he’s been quiet for at least seven minutes, and then he said, “Belmont’s got nothing to be ashamed of,” which scared the shit out of me because I thought he was asleep.
But no, apparently the Curly Haired Blonde just had a lot to say, because he was making that observation to her.
Seriously, when you see them dancing, how can you not cheer a little bit?
Still sick. Not better, not worse, just gross. The Butcher said, “Wait for the puking and the explosive shits.” I thought he was warning me, but no, it turns out that eventually, because you feel so bad, you start praying that everything in you will work its way out. He was offering me hope.
Here’s three things I’m thinking about:
1. I fear these guys are going to be shipped back to India at the end of all this.
2. Mike Huckabee, I don’t want you as my president, but hat’s off to ya.
3. Dear Mainstream Media, you suck. That is all.
Tiny Cat Pants 