you're not my brother, but you're my bro

Arrested Development, we hardly knew ye. I'm too depressed right now to discuss it, but there was a joke in one of the last four episodes which I am convinced has spoiled all other humor for me forever. I have touched the face of God, people. And at the moment I feel like the disciples must have felt right around the time Jesus came down off that cross.

So, the boyfriend has pointed out to me that my last post contained a link (it's the first link in the item about the commas — I'm so not linking there again) to a woman who "write[s] 'inspirational' romance novels, which are love stories celebrating Christian values." Judging from the description of her newest masterpiece in the sidebar, it seems to be your standard-issue masturbatory godbag tripe. That's masturbatory not in the beautiful and natural way, of course, but in the way where, if you're into this sort of kink, you get to imagine that a scenario where a guy marries his dead brother's wife out of "duty" ends in happiness all around. I realize this is a plotline from Deadwood, but you know it will be unbearable without the swearing.

Anyway, there are two lessons to be learned here: (1) Sometimes crazy people have valid opinions on punctuation; and (2) Do not blog when you are moments from passing out with exhaustion. I regret the error, folks. If you followed the link and read anything other than the thing about the commas, I promise to make it up to you somehow, someday. I'll buy you a car. It's my dad's.

But wait, I'm not quite done with this nutbag. After spending like hours today playing with this, I decided to troll for some good crazy on her blog (a matter of seconds merely). And what should I see but a link to the very toy with which I had beguiled so many sweet hours earlier in the day? What with the comma thing, and now this, I don't mind telling you I got scared, and my defenses kicked in. To wit:













The best defense is a good offense. I always say. Is it too much? It's not too much, is it?

I actually have some fun stuff for you about last night, but it will have to wait until I've regrown all the brain cells. Just now, bedways is rightways, my droogs, before I break my own new rule about not blogging when I'm too tired to hold my head up. Pleasants.