Voice Post: you sound so midwestern!

Suppose I was an idiot and suppose I was a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.

Bed beckons but not bedknobs and broomsticks for such bedlam games bemoan of boasted youth!

That means I'm going to sleep and I'm delirious.  Now, if my voice post didn't frighten you all away, you can read this post, which, though easier on the ears, is much more intense and invasive of your mental functions.

It's all the B words.

Like B for buy-me-things.  This year, I've created an Amazon Wish-List so that those members of the social groups I have labeled 'friends and family' will have an idea what to get me.  Unlike my sister who continues to get me gifts I would have liked when I was thirteen.

One year I returned an ugly shirt with a picture of someone's head in their ass on it and got a set of four Martha Stewart tumblers from K-Mart instead.

But bouncing with billowed blisters bemoan a bastard's belligerent fate!  But please:

"Return to your tents and your dreams.  Tomorrow, we enter the town of my birth, I want to be ready," said Jim Morrison one night in the year of Lord, 1969.

A witch once told me I was Jim in a past life.

Beguiled, boastful, or embellished?