I have now watched all of the first season of Weeds, and frankly I loved it, especially the stoner brother in law. I further loved the notion that the lead could pop a cap in a rat’s ass in her own house without turning a hair, although rats do NOT die if you get them with a pellet gun; they just bleed furiously and vamoose. Folks, a little realzm, plz.
I am currently cooking a double batch of biscotti for the United Way bake sale at work, and I am also making (daa daa daa daaaaa!) the dreaded Tapioca. I am going to buy my tapioca pearls from Stuporstore in future, these larger ones take an age to cook. It’s pushing an hour now.
I am staring at my packing list with panic, fear and loathing. Why am I getting on an airplane? Why am I travelling so goddamned far? The weather is going to suck and I’ll probably get dengue fever.
You are getting on a plane and the rest of it because of a rational prediction that you were going to have a great time. Heard of self-fulfilling predictions? Well, there you go.