No One Tells Me Anything

Jesus. You take one weekend to go on a massive bender, er, I mean, upgrade your site, and all kinds of stuff changes. For example, Erin moved down south.

It finally died. I could have left him there, but as my friend Kelly has said, “You can’t leave the dead ones there. You know they come out to mourn their dead.” So I got a paper towel and sopped him up and dropped him in the toilet, where he will probably incubate and cocktail it up and return, months from now, the size of a Buick and mad as hell. I’ll come home and he’ll be perched on the toilet all, “Yeah, try that can of Raid on me now, BITCH.”

As I sit at my desk, I can actually HEAR palmetto bugs slamming against my windows. It’s like there’s a gang of them outside with knives and guns trying to get in and avenge the death of Palmy. “Yo! Why you gotta be so cruel! [WHAM!] Let us bury Palmy underneath the confederate jasmine bush by the fence! [WHAP!] He’s a war hero, yo! He deserves a proper burial! [SMACK!] Bitch! Let us in!”

My city’s loss is her new home’s gain.

A.