With the raccoons flushed out of the attic, courtesy of oil-based insecticide spray, I spent part of the afternoon stapling wire mesh over the chewed-up holes of the eaves of the house.

I also sent a message to the folks at Dragon-X to expedite their development of human transportation devices for ISS ferrying duties so we can dump the Russian Soyuz tin can now that we’ve sung a song about it.

I’m tired of waiting on political idiots, who can be handed a set of keys to a car, told it contains the fingerprints and identifying motives/means of a murderers, but think the issue is the shape the keychain makes when thrown into a cup of tea leaves.

Pardon my French, but do these morons have their heads so far up their asses they can’t think straight?

They definitely need a butt light because they must’ve been drinking way too many Bud Lights at FBI buddy hangouts or political hack backwaters.

Fly me to the moon…please.  Otherwise, I’ll keep playing with my yo-yo because, as you know, I’ve got the world on the string.

A nod to Branson’s flight attendant duties, Bill’s weepy remembrances of Steve and Jolie’s mastodon-sized story of a mastectomy.

As the Barack mobile grinds to a screeching halt, what are we going to do to keep the masses happy?  Don’t forget the big picture despite the circus freak sideshows.