on success.

When interviewing a devout atheist who boasts the largest machine gun collection in the nation, do not, under any circumstances, mention your association with the Mennonite Church.

I am underblogged for the week. My pores hurt.

Today, one year ago, Biker Bob went scraping across Mink Road, and the rest is history. Holy Moses. Can you effing believe it? One year down, thirty to go until the children cry at my presence. I’m on my way.

Speaking of Mennonites, I went to a Vineyard Church. Much is left to be desired. Everyone was nice and so very Caucasian. The pastor seems legit (“We encourage failure in our church community…”) But what do you think about all the Hocus Pocus? I think it’s real, but never on TV, and usually not in PUBLIC and a SCHEDULED TIME and PLACE. BE THERE. YOU. WILL. FALL. DOWN. That kind of thing.

I missed the sweet sweet voices of my pitch pipe perfect brothas and sistas from Clintonville (…as split from the Anabaptists in the Radical Reformation in the 1530s to follow Menno Simons, of course.) They sure know how to carry a tune.

County Fair dispatches from the Knox County Bureau:

A healthy six-pack of girls sport sleeveless tanks that read “I’ve got a Honkey Tonk Badonkadonk.” (Worth the price of admission.)

A red head with an unfortunate cleft pallet wears T-shirt that reads: “I had a nightmare I was a blond.” (Priceless.)

In other news, Maybel. Yeast infection of the paws. From licking too much. Can’t walk. Wears a cone. Film at eleven.

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