Messenger Puppet

For only the second time in a year, I had a weekend all to myself.  No kids. Double you tee eff?!  What to do, what to do?

A time for introspection and prayer?  No.  Fuck that.

A time for chasing old girlfriends or trolling for new ones? 
    Me:   Fuck yeah!  P**** beers all around.
    Everyone:  Finally!
    Budget:  ha-hah!  Not so fast, my friend.  Not this weekend.
    Me:   Fuck!
    Karma:   This is just too easy.  See, it’s not just me fucking with you, but I am liking the whole irony angle.
    Terrior Wine Bar in Scottsdale:  Fucking loser. We didn’t want your drunk ass around anyway.   And no, we DON’T fucking serve “dog wine.”  Or Osama wine.  It’s pronounced Ter-wah, as in Ben-wa.  And no, don’t even think of saying it.

    So, no.  Interweb geek land does not count.

A time for expanding my mind?  Maybe, if you count learning that plaid, polka dots and pinstripes do not a power suit make.

Sleep, gym, beer, beans, football.  Blowing my diet due to the munchies.  Cutting edge shit.

Oh, plus my budding career as a computer repair technician.  They’re really in demand and they make good money.

I am so fucking lame…