100 monkeys typing.

Just Say No Thank You

Whattayamean I cain't torture? I suck at golf. I can't plan, execute or follow through worth a shit on anything. My wife's a wax sculpture. I've cleared all the brush from the ranch. Condi's on the road and the fish ain't bitin' off the coast of Maine. Ain't runnin' for or from anything. The war's in stasis per the redacted reports I get and the girls don't visit much anymore. Toss this lame ole duck a bone, willya?

How else am I expected to fill up those holes in my schedule between napping and my exercisin'?