Promises Broken

Earlier this week, the talking weather heads predicted, nay, PROMISED warmer 40-ish degree temperatures for the mid-Mitten. They lied. I hate them.

Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t 25˚, it was in the low 40s/high 30s but with a good dose of gusting wind direct from the teat of the witch, so it felt like it was 25˚. It was your classic robbing Peter to get six and one-half dozen apples and/or oranges from one pocket to another to pay Paul to stay away from Mary (I think) scenario.

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Winter is not over. That much I’m sure of; this is Michigan after all, land of May snow flurries, and June sweater wearing. However, on Sunday, we got a nice reprieve from the grey skies and the sort of snow, sort of ice, frozen ejaculate that a modern-day mid-Michigan winter spews, with some blue skies, sunshine, and improved temps.

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More of That Word

The same, the same, the same, the same, the same. Some days, everything feels the goddamn fucking same. Pardon that language, but some days everything truly does feel the same. Until it doesn’t. But then it’s back to the same. Know-what-I-mean?

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It Just Be Like That

A former mountain biker turned chubby part-time cyclist/full-time slacker with a camera recently said, “I suppose February will be bringing more of the same. Good thing, the same isn’t so bad.” And you know what? That chubby slacker was right!

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Weather Maker, No No No

It seems the beginning of 2020 has left me paralyzed with nothingness. Wait, no, that’s way too hyperbolic. Actually, I’ve just been a fleshy ball of slack and the innocent victim of uninspired connubial relations betweenst mythological weather makers.

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Mindbenders & Burritos

OK, I’ve sat, drank coffee, and poked around the societal and moral train wrecks that are NSFW Reddit pages long enough; it’s time to get to the gym before the students wake up, and the lunch break, New Year’s resolution hordes descend upon my go-to machines.

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Little Wishes, Big Problems

I am off to Western PA tomorrow morning. This is not a want, but mandate thrust upon me, along with a heap of (non practicing) Catholic guilt. Such is life. I guess I will return, and in the process, add to the Internet’s visual cacophony. Sorry. Have a good holiday if that’s what you’re into. Or, take a hostage, what the do I care.


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