Monday, October 24, 2016

Don't you cry for me

Yesterday was an emotionally draining day.

It started out normal enough. Got up, had coffee, putzed around in the garage a few hours.

Even the Formula One race was mostly easy enough to watch. Go Lewis Hamilton!

Then the Chargers played. They won. But not without aging me another seven years in three hours. At this point I am 428 years old as a Chargers fan.

Then American Horror Story had me jumping off the couch and screaming.

But it got worse. The goddammotherfucking Walking Dead broke my heart.

There was much screaming, crying, cursing as I watched the season premiere.

It ended and she wanted to watch Talking Dead. I said something like,  fuck this motherfucking show. FUCK! And marched upstairs to watch the second half of the SNF game.

Which sucked by the way.

TGB came to bed.

I recorded Talking Dead for you. 

I am done with that fucking show. 

Maggie was stunning and had TONS of sideboob.

...

You're welcome. I love you, too. 

Titty sprinkles!