o pussyfeathers

It was raining last year too. Welp. I remember that last year was way worse. It was raining harder, literally and figuratively speaking. I did not even think about smoking a Pall Mall today, in fact I spent the morning at the bikram studio contorting fairly happily for hours after a decent night’s sleep for a change. And I have my awning back, under which I sat all afternoon reading a good book as the rain fell around me and all was otherwise silent except the birds shop-talking in the dry intervals. I don’t get fireworks again this year, which is a total bummer, because I like them A LOT. I like to get up close and sit on the ground and feel the booms on my butt, and when the finale comes I am approximately 6 years old at most, and then I want ice cream on the walk home in the dark. But, say la vee. Given who is in the White House, I am chalking all this rain up to a cosmic protest against celebrating The Assholes’ birthday. So I’m posting some Lewis Black – I love how he hates everything, especially his fellow Americans. (Whatever.) I am trying to fight the Pride thing and thus not to think “ya fucktards” at people, but since I can’t have what I want tonight, I’m allowing myself to wallow in the Black.