I've discovered the antidote for crabbiness. The crabbidote, if you will. Two words: natural hot springs. Holy fuckstain, we've got to get something like this back in Michigan. You drive up into the mountains, give some hacky-sackin'Deadhead five bucks, and you get to go stew in a bubbling, hot cauldron of Earth pee. It's like a terrestrial golden shower. Mother Nature sure has some soothing piddle.
In fact, I have so little residual crabbitude in my system, I don't even know what to type. I talked to the kiddies and they're getting along fine without me, so far. Can't quite vouch for the old lady -- I'm sure her crabby quotient has increased exponentially. For now, however, that is not my concern. Harsh but true.
I will have plenty to report upon my return, but right now, I've yet another hot spring beckons. (A hot spring beckons or a hot springs beckons? I don't know and, frankly, I don't care.) I will leave you with a quote from Miss O from our short phone call:
"'Lint' is my favorite word... and 'Steven.'"