So some windy bitch named Rita might be heading towards H-Town, bent on ruining the lives of all the fine folks who live here. I'm especially targeted because I live in Montrose, which loves to flood whenever there's more than a few hours' hard rain. I'm not as bad off as all the folks living east and south of here, but shit, I've already had one apartment flooded, and the one I'm in now has carpet and will require a lot more work to get back up to snuff if the shit hits the fan.
Thankfully, Dave and I have already decided to split town in the wee hours if things get really bad, and several people have offered us places to stay until it's safe to return home. I've also had the opportunity to hang out with my new girlfriend, the (to quote Peter Ackroyd's version of John Milton) highly delightful Linda, quite often, so if by some freak occurence these are my final days, they've been good ones. Diolch yn fawr, Duw.
But they won't be my last days. Fuck no. Dave Smith is mightier than... no, I can't say it. Won't say it. Conan might get away with "CROM LAUGHS AT YOUR FOUR WINDS!", but I'm with Subotai on this one, and the four winds are far mightier than that fickle tunnel-dwelling bastard Crom.
On the other hand, should this be the end of me, rest assured that I will go to my death with beer, book, tobacco, and rifle at hand.
"Fix bayonets!"
"Stand by to repel boarders!"
2 comments:
Props on yer new lady.
Fuck a hurricane!
Here she comes... I watched the sunset from up high, now I watch her wander in from up high. She is big and she is mean and boy does she ever blow.
To the good times in the bad. To the folk who matter and the terrible beautiful uncertainty, if it all come tumbling down, there'll be work to build it up, and reasons to celebrate the awful mess of it all.
Post a Comment