April 25, 2010: I don't know why I like Shannon Woolfe so much, but I do. Perhaps I feel she's one of the few people who understands me (although a lot of that's probably just my imagination). Perhaps I just like her name, (despite the flagrant misspelling), or the recurring image I have of her staggering angrily out onto her porch in the middle of the night to scare away rednecks by bellowing, "Can I help you?!" in a real yocal dialect.
Whatever it is, I wanted to take a moment to celebrate her, and acknowledge her worth ...
Okay, good. Now let's move on. I also wanted to talk about spring flowers, in particular the lilacs I pirated this evening. They're currently filling my bedroom with their lofty sweet scent, and believe me, my bedroom never smells this good.
Spring flowers like these are just good enough to eat, and in fact almost look edible when I'm in the right mood. I've never tried them, of course. I'm not some kind of weirdo. But is it wrong for a writer to fantasize about such things? (Many of you would say Yes, and that's why I withhold Blah-ugh entries (or are they really entrails?).
Anyway, the point is, spring is here, and women are in heat. (I see it all over, though I try to politely pretend I don't.) Men apparently go into heat in the fall, when the autumn temperatures cool their testicles. (I'm not making this up!) But spring is when all our feminine sides comes blossoming out, like so much lavendar in a smelly sash. Isn't that why we have spring? Be honest. You ladies know more about this than I do!
I could go on, because like Bobby Troop, my heart is full of spring. But I'm thinking that I have to shower and shave, too, and I want to watch the end of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" -- the masterpiece one with Donald Sutherland, which I've seen 10 times but still never tire of.
Someone remind me to write a review of it soon. (Shannon, if you remember.) I've got to go and put my balls on ice.