It's been a while since we penned anything aboot Himself. Ah, lady. It's hockey time, and he insists, every time that I ask, that "no Flyers tickets are to be had for the rest of the season." What in the shit is that? You're telling us that Our Illustrious Blacque Pirate Fryday Planz (tm) to see Les Flyers jouer the hockey against Les Habs will not happen? Merde! This will not do. Sheezus Christ, it's, like, crazy! And don't even get me started about how your head is upside down.
Still, the sisters will meet in The City of Brotherly Love during the Season of Giving Thanks to engage in hot tub action with Dony Breere and Clod Giroooooooooo. After Jagr [sic] Bombs are procured at Bridget Foy's, that is. Don't anybody tell me you disagree with this plan. Well, unless by "anybody" you mean Monsieur Magic Hands in the Blue Jays Hat at Six Flags. (That's his new formal title.)
The jury is out as to the accommodations that will be presented to the aforementioned travelers. No, Robert E. Lee is not riding on us. That was a joke for Mom, who will never read this. Anyway. (Perhaps the other element in this sibling equation would like to expound on the topics of separate beds, matrimonial celebrations, and the North Carolinian taco bar.)
Regards of the sitcheeasheion, I anticipate--nay, PROCLAIM--that much fun will be had, and also that the weather will not suck. I refuse to spend three hours to go twenty miles on the goddamn 87 --> 287 route over the Hudson. Stupid NY Thruway. And I swear that woman in the fast, new BMW coupe with Quebec license plates was someone's mother. Just sayin'.
Go Caps, and for the love of God, NOT THE FACE.
Compulsed,
knxvil.
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