As if I needed more convincing lately that the Amish are the smartest ones on the planet by eschewing electronic tools of torment, I continue to have problems with my blog software.
Please be patient, dear reader. (That means you, mom.) I'm very much at the moment like the title character in "Marty," bumbling like a hulk of manflesh with a mouthfull of spaced-out Chicklets, careening from one ignorant technological moment to the next. I may have to divorce and remarry to a woman named Tova to make the Borgninian transformation complete.
Anyone know a MT expert who can throw me a frickin bone here, people? I feel so cold and I long for their embrace. I keep calling baby, baby, pleeeeeeease.