Well well well well well.
No, make that unwell unwell unwell unwell unwell.
Got a forwarded email from one pal who got one from a mutual pal who, after reading the meandering machinations, has sadly derailed. Toys in the attic. You know, nutty bumpers.
Lest you think you are secure with your toys in the toybox we are all bumping around on the bumper cars and one bad bump and kapoof = nutsoville. That is like so my theory and I rest my inquisitive case.
Speaking of cases, and to sound a bit like the aforementioned derailee, I could be in the midst of yet another cease and desist situ as I've created some neato merch based on my famed and inflamed and incensing Globe covershot showing Hill (as in Hillary, you know, former Mrs. Presidente) as Yours Truly loves to say Gripping the podium. Oh, if you really must know, or find, go searching at cafepress.com fercrissakes. It'll be our little easter egg hunt of sorts.
Speaking of the pagan-cum-christian blood ritual of Easter, tomorrow is Good Friday. This means that there will be mayhem at the bakery nearby as pastry munchers of all shapes (no, scratch that, the pastry munchers are of one shape) will be queued up for sugar, fat, raisins, shortening and such all tossed together to make treats of all shapes. Peeps, let us focus on peeps for a moment. Misshapen marshmallow birds.
Now let us focus on the green jelly beans.
Now the black.
Now the red.
God, no pun intended, I love Easter.

Love's Peeps.