All right, fuck off the Bears lost. Football's for fuckheads, anyway.
How 'bout them Bulls!
So, I got this laptop from work so I don't have to sit in this underground fortress of ice-itude all day (and night), with my fucking nardarinos up around my neck, and I can't get the goddamn thing to work with blogger. The rest of the internets seems to be working fine, but the blogger page just freezes up, the dick. I've gotta figure it out, though, 'cuz the idea of crapping this blather out (blathering out this crap?) while sitting in my warm, comfy bed is making my already erect nipples even erecter.
This morning, this electrician dude came by to replace our ENTIRE FUSE/BREAKER BOX, because, apparently, the old one was about to make our house go "boom." It had basically been fucked up since we moved in a couple of years ago -- always making these weird buzzing noises every time I turned the space heater that I basically sit on down here to any setting above "arctic tundra." I thought I had "fixed" it by jamming a guitar pick into the main breaker, keeping it from buzzing and (here's the bad part) ensuring that the breaker could never actually shut off, if overloaded. Apparently, that's a bad thing. Who am I, Johnny Wires?
So, the power was shut off for about 4 1/2 hours this morning, while the dude put in a new box, and I sat around with my extremely cold and chapped thumb up my extremely cold and surprisingly unchapped ass. I realized that it's probably a good thing that I have a job. I'm not good with not having shit to do. I mean, I tried to write some shit for work, but with no internets, I couldn't do much. So, I finished the Sunday Times crossword puzzle, I cleaned the bathrooms and looked out the window a lot. It was depressing as shit. I guess it's a good thing I haven't won the Lotto yet, 'cuz I'd probably have keeled over from boredom by now. Though I'd be wearing much nicer pants while keeling, most likely. Maybe even 'slacks.'
Okay, I've gotta figure this laptop thing out. I'm through with you for tonight. Go do your little Colts dance, ya bastards.