Hors de combat

That's Schlub, who was lifting up the front end of his car to change the oil while playing rugby and threw out his back. I wish. Actually, I was cleaning out a closet, laying out my winter clothes and wishing I was gone...wait, that's Simon and Garfunkle. As you can tell, the very serious drugs a quasi-sympathetic doctor gave me is causing ongoing instances of planar travel. The upside, I can tell you the multiverse is thriving with some very interesting alternatives, including one world where joining the Democratic party is punishable by death. Tried to stay, but the pills wore off. Once I can get a fix on my true location in this dimension, I'll be back.

Awright, okay

Yeah, I know, you start a blog, you're supposed to keep it up. Well, I will. Tomorrow.

Update

Dang. I guess I've been away for awhile. Too prostrate with outrage to write, I guess.

Augh!

Not Stevens!

Roberts! Roberts! Roberts!

Geez, schlub, if you're going to be snippy, be snippy with the right people.