LIAM OSCAR THURSTON'S 13th BIRTHDAY.
POTLUCKS.
DANCE PARTIES.
SOCIAL LIFE AT LARGE.
ALL FORGOTTEN IN THE NAME OF BEING SNOWED INTO MY BASEMENT APARTMENT.
AS USUAL, I AM TRYING TO MAKE YOU THINK.
RIGHT NOW, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE THINKING "WHY HAVE I NEVER SEEN ANY OF THOSE FLAVOURS BEFORE?!?!"
IT'S BEYOND ME (OR PERHAPS BEYOND THE U.S. BORDER).
I AM BACK IN THE REAL WORLD (SAN FRAN, DUH)...
BUT TOTALLY ABOUT TO FORGET IT AGAIN IN THE NAME OF RAMBLING ON AND ON ABOUT CONTEMPORARY IGNORANCE OF ARISTOTLE'S INFLUENCE ON WHAT WE ALL KNOW AND LOVE...
THAT'S RIGHT, DETECTIVE FICTION.
MS. CHRISTIE, YOU MAKE GOOD MYSTERIES.
AND SO...IN THE SPIRIT OF RECENTLY OVERLOOKED INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY, I'LL BE TOTALLY PUNK ROCK IN PRESENTING YOU WITH A LOVE LETTER TO LADIES AS CREATED BY MEN (OR RATHER, BOYS).
THE BEASTIE BOYS!!!
JUST JOKING, JEEZ! THE JAM ALLUDED TO IS WAY OFF POINT.
GIRLS TO DO THE DISHES?! GIRLS TO DO THE LAUNDRY?!
THAT SAID, I DO LOVE MY BEASTIE BOYS (AND GIVE THEM SNAPS ON THE REGULAR).
ANYWAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIAM.
I HOPE YOU HAD A BLAST.
AND THAT AS YOU GET OLDER?
THEY STAY THE SAME AGE...
TOTALLY CUTE, RIGHT?!
RIGHT!
OH WHERE WOULD WE BE WITHOUT FRESHMEN...
THINK ABOUT IT!
BACK TO THE GRIND.
ESSAY, I SAY!
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