White Trash Ice Cubes

It's Friday evening and I'm settling in with a glass of wine and some fly tunes.  That's right; I said, "fly."  Deal with it.  Actually, I have fun dinner and comedy show plans tonight so I'm not "settling in" so much as "getting ready and drinking wine."  Details.

You guys may not know this, but I'm ready for the month of 'eat no dead animals' to be over.  Ray's Hell Burger, you'd better lock it up and have your shit together come Sunday evening.  I ain't even playing.  It's going to be a blur of hamburger, bloody juice running down chins, and sighs of orgasmic delight.

(I know a fierce debate has erupted over the serial comma and the necessity of that last comma in a list of items, but whatever.  I'm a rebel.  I'll comma if I want to.)

As I'm dancing around my apartment, getting all dolled up and whatnot, I'm wearing what is clearly the best t-shirt ever made.  The Sister picked this up for me on her most recent trip to Canada.  She did good.

Douchecanoe?  How about BEAVER-canoe!

It doesn't matter that I'm thirty-fabulous, "beaver" will always make me giggle because... vaginas.  (Are you uncomfortable Callton? VAGINAS!  VAGINAS!  VAGINAS!)

Anyway.

July will be here in two days and I want all of you haters -- those of you collapsing into charming little puddles of laughter at the mere mention of my 'no swearing' month -- to know that I will prove all of you wrong.  Crow, you shall eat.  In the meantime:  fuckity, fuck, fuck, bastard, shit, motherfucker, wine, damn, vaginas, bollocks.  Fuck.

Happy weekend, everyone!