I thought my week in MI would be a boring one, sitting next to Father and trying to find something to occupy my mind while he naps or asks Alexa to play random tunes. I haven’t had a moment’s rest. Besides taking care of his needs (meals and trips to the loo) there are the animals. The dogs are on the wrong side of every door; at any given moment they sense something outside and go hauling into the forest at the matter. The cats just need the occasional patting and a tin of meat. Meanwhile there is laundry and dishes and running to Meijer Shifty Takers for prescriptions and such. Never a dull moment.

I am getting my wish for rain. It hasn’t stopped raining since I landed. Compared to the arid dry Phoenix climate, Michigan resembles the Amazon. Mercifully the temperatures are about half that in Arizona. Everything is wet and quite green.

My biggest fear is assuring nine chickens come home each night to roost. Thanks to the rain they are more or less keeping to the henhouse. Curiously, there aren’t many eggs coming in. SIL #3 texts me from the road the hens are probably laying eggs in the forest and why don’t I go looking for them. Sooner I’d eat rats at Tewkesbury than go into that mosquito-infested hellhole. When I step outside I am immediately dive-bombed by a swarm of the hungry bitches. Brother #3 told me I don’t have to mind the bees but the bee bonnet comes in handy this way to attend the chickens.

Father’s sister came into town last weekend to attend a cousin’s memorial service and she has stayed on with us a few days to visit Father. It is very nice to have Auntie here; she and he have kept each other company while I do the dishes and feed the mosquitoes. Auntie, no surprise, as the hummingbird brains of The Spos. The two of them talk nonstop over each other and it sounds doubtful if they are actually listen to each other. The Cousins all talk similar so I learned we all must have gotten the wiring from one if not both of my paternal great-grandparents.* I am glad when both of them lie down to take a nap – which is why I am typing this.

Provided it ever stops raining, Brother #4 is supposed to come over to grill something for dinner but I cannot imagine him being able to do so in this nonstop rain. He likes a challenge though. I hope he has lots of repellent on if he tries.

I haven’t had time to read any my blogs (worse luck!); I suppose I could use this time to catch up, but I feel sleep coming on me. After all, there is nothing like taking an afternoon nap with a gentle rain outside. Maybe I am just tired from caretaking or perhaps I’ve picked up some nasty mosquito-borne disease. Yellow Fever is high on the differential as is Dengue Fever. I will keep you posted.

*Both paternal great-grandparents come from Canada; they were French Canadians. Growing up, I supposed all Canadians (or at least the French ones) ‘must talk like this”. I know better now:-only the French Canadians who have lost their accent but not the ADHD blurt so.

I read a lot of articles these days about burn-out and exhaustion. In the social outlets and in the medical journals these conditions are apparently rampant made worse by the consequence of covid 19. We are burning the candle at three ends. My Jungian-trained mind goes to balance, so it is not surprising I’ve been thinking a lot about “Jordon” lately.

Jordon was an analysand of mine when I was in private practice in Evanston in the early 90s. He was a man in his 70s, I recall, sent in for head-shrinking by his wife on the grounds ‘something wasn’t right with him’. Jordon was a recent retiree after decades of being the president or CEO of some sort of business.  He and his wife were quite active in fund raisers, board members, social clubs, and at their church. Now that he was retired he didn’t want to do any of these things. What he wanted to do was ‘bum around’. He was quite happy – nay, content – doing nothing more than reading books or literally going fishing without any goal of catching fish.  His wife was appalled. Mrs. Jordon wanted himto do all the usual things and more since he had more time to do them. Obviously he must be depressed, as if he was ‘right’ he would want to do all these things as she thought was ‘right’. They had a lifelong propensity to go on holidays in which she had them running around day and night when all he wanted to do was sit on the beach with a book.

Jordon and I worked on how he could find ways to reconcile his desires with hers – short of a divorce or separate vacations. I was fired in the end for not getting him better viz. not getting him to want to be busy. Rumor has it after we ended she took him on a three week-long cruise to Antartica with three other couples (none he could stand) with daily rosters full up with lecture series and yoga classes and canasta.  

I have christened the complex to be constantly on the go and doing the ‘right’ things “The Jordon Complex’. Mr. and Mrs. Jordon could have been seen as extreme cases of introversion vs. extroversion but I think there was more than ‘where did they go to recharge themselves’. Mrs. Jordon (at least how she was portrayed to me) had a lot of ‘should’ statements to her, and vanity too – what would the neighbors think or her/them to know Jordon was bumming around when his peers were running boards and charity drives? Oh the embarrassment.

‘Being busy’ is the new bent status symbol but it wasn’t always this so. Before the 20th century the rich and important boasted their worth through a life of indolence. In the 21st century it is through how g-d busy we are. We can’t just do a simple stroll in the park but must be listening to a lecture or audiobook while tracking our steps for cardiovascular health. Maybe you are old enough to remember weekends and vacations used to be  times of ‘doing nothing’, taking a rest, to recharge you batteries for the work week.

Please don’t think I am above and beyond this. I must consciously mind the habit and cultural influence to be constantly doing things. I am working on my inner-Jordon to let him go fish or read a book or whatever he wants – or doesn’t want – to do. I want to say to others when they asks me: ‘what did you do on your vacation?” or “How was your weekend?” to say ‘oh nothing really, it was non-eventful”.  The Mrs. Jordons has been running the itinerary for far too long now and it is costing us our energy and our souls. 

Thus it begins: my week of caretaking Papa et. al. 

Last night Princess-Goddess and Brother #3 took me around to show me where everything is. I am to manage cats, dogs, chickens, and Fathers. It remains to be seen which of the gang of four will be the most needy. 

What about me? Dudo and Moose got theirs!

Cats: Whatever instructions I was given about morning ablutions, as soon as Brother #3 and family left, Luna made it quite clear what I am to be do first. SIL #3 told me not to succumb to the cats’ nonsense and lies. They do NOT continually need treats, even if they are in front of the cupboard pawing the door in feigned death throes.

Dogs: it’s rawther wet and rainy so I must be mindful of wet paws as they go in and out.  Like the Rum Tum Tugger, they are always on the wrong side of every door.  If the weather is clement, I am told they would love to go for a walk, but to make sure they don’t wear their ‘shock-collars’ which keeps them confined to the property.  I did not know shock-collars existed for dogs, although I have seen similar in certain shops in Palm Springs. 

Chickens: I was given instructions to cover all aspects of poultry management. I am told to help myself to as many eggs as I can eat.* What I wasn’t told was the hazards of visiting the chickens. Between the backdoor and the chicken coop I am attacked by an army of mosquitoes. Urs Truly is not used to mosquitoes, and there are bizillions of the bastards. Next time I hold an inspection I plan to be wrapped tight as a mummy.  Nine chickens are to be let out each morning and hopefully all nine will return by day’s end. I worry I will lose one on my watch. When it comes to poultry, Brother #3 takes a laissez-faire approach, telling me replacements are cheep. SIL #3 wanted to show me the ax to use in case I have to put some mangled chicken out of her misery, but no thank you. 

Fathers: There is only one actually, and he seems to be the less needy of the critters.  He is mostly content to sit and listen to classical music with me next to him. He is the originator of the ‘there’s work to be done” and we have a list as long as my arm. 

It shall be a quite a week: let’s see if I get through it without losing too much blood.  

So long as the cats are happy I think I will do OK.

I got him trained !

*There are presently three dozen in the refrigerator and more arrive each day. 

I pride myself in my constant curiosity for life-long learning, and I have explored almost all aspects of knowledge, but where I fall short is the subject of economics. No, I don’t fall short, I fall flat. I know little or nothing about the topic. Economics seems to me a pseudo-science, a mumbo-jumbo about money, and it is not based on anything but human emotions (and that ain’t good). There is a Monty Python sketch in which Eric Idle plays a newsman, who announces millions of pounds were wiped out today at the London exchange when someone on the floor coughed. That was my one take-home lesson in economics: things are aleatory and not to be trusted.

It would be good to learn some basics in economics to frighten away the demons of ignorance, so I bought a lecture series on the topic at ‘The Great Courses’. Let’s see if I can pay attention and learn something.*

What interests me most about economics is the human psychology aspect. I know from history of several economic follies like The Tulip-mania and The South Sea Bubble. There are plenty more, and they all sound the sadly the same: people get wrapped up in speculative frenzies to buy rubbish things, only to have it all crash on them, like Beanie Babies or Bernie Maddox. This is why I am highly suspicious of ‘fads’ like bitcoin, NFTs, and starter companies. Sooner I’d eat rats at Tewkesbury than buy these buggers.

Someone and I are fuddy-duddies that we squirrel away some money each month and invest in oh-so-sensible mutual funds, hoping this staid approach is good enough to have retirement money. Mr. Mahoney, our money man at Merrill Lynch, handles all our savings, so I don’t have to worry – much**. He is a sweet guy and well over four feet. He occasionally sends us explanatory emails of what’s happening in the fabulous world of the economy, but these may as well be written in Chinese for all I comprehend. I have some basics down: stay the course; keep investing; don’t freak out with the ups and downs; avoid curried snacks.

I have a 401(K); it seems to be slowly progressing upwards (good) and Someone has some pensions (good) but there remains a fear I won’t ever see it (bad). If I were a betting man, before I get to retirement, I will either drop dead or my savings will all be absconded by some villain on Wall Street, resulting in Urs Truly becoming a crazed-sterno bum living in cardboard boxes on the grounds of some municipal parks (it could happen).

This is what comes from ignorance: speculation (pun intended) on all sorts of nonsense and what-ifs about money. It is hoped with some book-learning I can settle down my inner “The Fagin Complex” and not worry about it so.

Meanwhile I stay the course; I put away what money I can. I don’t invest in fads and I watch my pennies – and hope this will work.

*I have twice tried reading “The Wealth of Nations” but I could not get past the first chapter. Mr. Smith is more wordy than Mr. Dickens and that’s saying something.

**Not knowing how things work allows anxiety and paranoia to creep in to wonder if Mr. Lynch or somebody like him will someday run off to South America with our money. Perhaps someone at the NYSE will cough and it all goes down like a soufflé. It could happen.

Spo-fans have noted I make reference to ‘happy hour’ that happen on Thursdays. One or two have asked me to tell about this weekly ritual. Very well…..

Most every Thursday* Someone and I make the trek through the ardent heat and the heavy rush-hour traffic to our favorite watering hole, Kobalt, for show tunes, libations, and good cheer in general. Kat, who is bartender and my future-ex-wife, recently bought a house, which I suspect was made possible by our regular patronage. Next time I am there I should inquire if her maison needs any preternatural entities. I can send over The Car Key Gnomes or the Cup Sprites. I have heaps.

At happy hour, we each have two drinks; if Someone is driving, I get a third. I am constantly trying new cocktails, keeping Kat on her toes what it shall be. It is a sort of game in a way, like The Monty Python’s “The Cheese Shop” sketch. I sometimes just ask the future ex-missus if she has any ‘specials’. She is a a wiz (or is that a witch?) at experimenting with bar bottles that need using up or with things gathering dust on the top shelves. Perhaps that week the owner brought in some fresh fruit or he got hold of some local hooch to push.** Maybe I just order something called an ‘Omakase’. ‘Omakase’ is a Japanese word meaning “I leave it up to you” sometimes said to service people like sushi chefs, barbers, and bartenders who know you well enough you let them give you something they know you will like. So many drinks options; so little time.

Someone nearly always orders his usual: a gimlet or a vodka tonic. He’s no fun, he falls right over.

Someone actually watches the videos while I listen to them as background noise. What am I doing? I am on my phone. My favorite happy hour activity is going over the list of words I’ve picked up in the past week, reviewing them, hoping to get into my lexicon. This is stupid, as drinking alcohol while trying to memorize definitions never works, but it is fun to try.

When I lived in Chicago, the bars were packed for ‘Showtunes Night’; many had them as they were profitable. In Phoenix, not so much. I don’t know if this is a Phoenix phenomena (where everyone has to drive) or something that has faded in time. Kobalt Showtunes used to be on Saturday night, but the attendance went down, so it was moved to Thursdays (a school night for Urs Truly – worse luck!) When we go on Thursdays we see the same folks who more or less sit in the same spots. There are pleasantries exchanged but not much more. Once in a while, when a favorite tune comes on screen, all in the place sing along in chorus. ‘Babs’ is mandatory.

Sipping cocktails to show tunes makes one peckish, so Kat is on hand to sell us little bags of nasty chips or (if they are in stock) thin crust pizzas, which we eat with relish. These also act as Omakase absorbers. Someone and Kat are quite knowledgeable about show tunes so they speak a lot upon the topic, provided she isn’t too busy serving other customers. I always inquire if I have advanced any on her list of future-ex-wives, which never seems to happen. Like Penelope, I think she does this on purpose so we keep showing up and ordering drinks and pizzas but this may be the Omakase talking.

It is not uncommon for us to visit Uncle Albertsons on the way home to pick up something to eat rather than going straight home to cook a proper meal. Paul, at the deli counter, my future-ex-husband, sells us our weekly indulgence of fried chicken, chips, and coleslaw. Oh the embarrassment.

*Sometimes on Thursdays starting around 7PM there is planned event like a fund-raiser or a drag-show. These make the place fill up and it is hard to get seats. So we don’t go.

**This kind of cocktail is called “Summer Rain”.


Yesterday I didn’t do my customary World of mine Wednesday. I thought to pick it up next Wednesday, but Spo-fans seem to enjoy it and it is good exercise for me to write it. So, here is Word of mine Wednesday – on Thursday. Spo.

What’s top of my mindThe outpouring of birthday salutations I received yesterday.  I pause and say how happy and grateful I am to have such and avalanche of caring comments. You are dears everyone of you. Thank you for making my day special.

As I approach sixty (how is this possible?) I want 2021-2022 to be more than just another year of work, sleep, and repeat. I would like to travel; I would like to do at least one item on my bucket list. This needs planning and effort. Life passes by so easily unless we pause to make an effort to make it more than daily doings.

Where I’ve been – In the gully-wash.  To the east of where I live is a large gully that is dry except during monsoons and sudden storms. Then it becomes a cascading series of water falls to wash away the rain water. The gully presently holds several rocks that have come down from the north in a recent rainfall. When I take Harper on her walks, I now make a detour down into the wash to find me a few choice rocks for painting. Don’t do this in the rain or you may get swept away.

Where I’m going –  Michigan. This Saturday I fly to The Land of Perpetual Snow and Ice for a week to tend Father while Brother #3 et. al. go on a proper holiday. I am sure to write about this week ad nauseum; apart from sitting with and minding Papa, I won’t have much else to do but write.

What I’m watching The weather. In my youth I was fascinated by hurricanes and I still am. It is curious to see how people’s reaction to hurricanes have changed in time what with better predictability and more media coverage. This is worth a blog entry in itself, the psychology of hurricanes. The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections won’t like this, but I will. Speaking of weather, I hope for some rainy days when I am in Michigan – a proper thunderstorm would thrill me to no end.

What I’m reading –  ‘The Last of the Mohicans’.  I kept falling asleep with the audio rendition so last weekend I went to Bookman’s and got me a paperback copy for two bucks. Mr. Cooper’s style of writing is very old-fashioned; he writes like a Latin scholar. It is not easy reading. I am curious to see how the story has fared in time.

What I’m listening to – “Six: the musical” I’ve seen clips of this musical at Thursday night happy hour. It is a sort of rock concert sung by six women as the wives of Henry VIII. Mr. Henry Tudor doesn’t appear in the show. So far it sounds like #metoo set to music. I just started listening, so what do I know.

What I’m eating Vindaloo.  Last night for my birthday I ordered ‘to-go’ from the local Indian fast-food joint. It is not quality Indian cuisine but it is the only one in the area. I ordered a lot, as it was my birthday, and Someone wasn’t there to stop me. Now we have lots of lovely leftovers. When I am in Michigan I hope to get proper no-rubbish type Indian cuisine, although Father probably will want simpler fare.

Who I’m paying attention to – The Bosses. A few months ago they made an announcement the place I work was to be bought or partnered or affiliated with some sort of company based out of Florida. Then – nothing. I got an email last month there would be updates in July. I still don’t know what this is about, or how it may effect me. I feel in a good position if there is any funny business I can always pack up and retire or go elsewhere. It’s a nice position to be in: I don’t like this and please change it and if not I will go elsewhere.

What I’m planning – A freezer fill. In the laundry room, next to the washer and dryer, stands a large white cube-shaped freezer, which presently holds hardly anything. In preparation for the next crisis de jour perhaps it would be prudent to fill it with joints of roast beast, frozen pizzas, bags of vegetables, and such. The kitchen pantry is relatively bare too. Perhaps this too should be stockpiled with tinned things and boxes of rice and pasta. The downside to such planning is I always forget what I have and I end up buying more when I have them already.

Spo-fans: do you keep supplies or just buy when you need something?

What is making me smile – Opps! I forgot to include this W! I recently learned a keyboard replacement hack. Use ‘@@” as a substitute for your email address. How many times in a week do I need to write out my email? I went to the general setting on my iPhone, then to the keyboard/replacement, and made it so. Now I just type ‘@@” and the iPhone fills in my email Bob’s your uncle!

I am 59 years old today !

One of my favorite short stories is James Joyce’s ‘A Painful Case‘. It is also one of the saddest stories I have ever read. In it, a Mr. James Duffy, and a woman named Mrs. Emily Sinico meet, become close, but he breaks off their relationship. Years later while he eating supper in a bar he happens to read in the newspaper her obituary. He thinks back on their time together, and the what-ifs if they had somehow stayed in-touch.

I think of this story whenever I find out about a death of someone once dear to me. Donna was a friend back in my high school church youth group. We were a close group and very fond of each other. Donna was sickly; she eventually had a lung transplant while in high school in the 70s. We went to senior prom going with another two from the church group, Norma and Tom. After high school we all did not stay in touch. There were rumors Donna married badly to an abusive man. Throughout the decades I have often wondered what happened to her; there was a part of me that feared she had died. Folks with lung transplants did not live long. About a month ago, I asked Norma via Facebook if she knew of Donna’s whereabouts. She didn’t know. I forgot about this until this morning when she sent a link via IM informing me Donna had died two days ago. She was 59 years old, the age I am about to become.

Like Emily Sinico, Donna’s obituary seemed to suggest she had lived a hard life. There was no mention of her having spouse or children. She is survived by her sister (I had forgotten about her). This is not the first time I have wondered about someone I haven’t heard of in ages, thinking someday I ought to look them up, only to discover I am too late – often weeks if not days after their death. It feels like missing the train by only a minute, and there won’t be another. It brings up the sadness of what life could have been if we had stayed in touch. Both our lives would have been better, or so I suppose.

Mr. Duffy and I differ (I hope) that he knows he will die alone as he lived. The Emily Sinicos in our lives remind us to reach out, get in touch; don’t just think about someone, but contact them – before it is too late. Hold onto your loved ones and guard them like the apple of your eye.

I am sorry I lost touch with my Lady Donna. I will remember her. What I help heal the sadness is to contact Norma and Tom and others like them and try to make sure they don’t disappear.

I stopped by Robzilla the other day to see what she was up to [1] only to see between the entries an ad “How to write a successful blog”. I think that is what it said; maybe it said ‘How to write a more successful blog’. When I went back to check, the ad had disappeared. Now I don’t know how to write a successful blog. Stirges.

Blogger buddy and blog-god Hugh (the dear!) often writes on the topic. I have learned many good tips from him.[2] What I really wanted to read in that now closed wormhole is what was the ad defining as successful; I am keen to learn. I meet with patients all day long who long to be successful, whatever that means. [3]

I guess I define blog success with the modest yardsticks of:

a) writing something daily, or near daily

and

b) not making spelling errors.

After these modest goals are met, then I go for success in writing as something that hangs together without dangling particles or non-sequiturs. Finally, success is meeting the austere approval of The Board of Directors Here at Spo-Reflections or at least not evoking their ire, which leads to massive removal of paragraphs and/or body parts. [4]

It would be a lie to say I don’t care if people read my rubbish. I very much appreciate and enjoy the comments, particularly if they don’t point out awful spelling errrors. Comments make me smile and feed good. I am pleased as Punch to hear from the ‘regulars’ and from the lurkers and first time commenters. It is nice to know what I wrote was interesting or humorous, something to make the reader pause to say thank you for writing this. I guess this is another yardstick of a successful blog: thankful comments. Quality over quantity.

What is missing in terms of success is the number of readers and earning money. The latter is the easiest to address. While I enjoy writing, it is, after all, my hobby, not my profession. As the prostitute in ‘I, Claudius’ explained to the empress about wanting money for accepting a challenge: “My work is your hobby; my hobby happens to be gardening, for which I don’t expect to be paid”. Mind! Many bloggers I admire and read regularly have ads in theirs. These ads do no harm and I hope they provide my blogger buddies some pocket money for gummi bears or whatever floats their boat.

Do I want more readers? Is that success? I admit I would like to see several hundreds reading this but I am either too lazy or disinterested to change things to make it happen. I like the notion my little piece of the blog-world is sort of boutique, a ma-and-pa shop, and not an Appleby’s franchise. I may not have many customers, but whom I have seem loyal and they apparently like what happens here. [5]

I conclude I have a successful blog by some definitions, most importantly, my own. After all, I have been slogging away at this for over thirteen years and I haven’t run out of ideas, readers, or digits. If that ain’t success, I don’t know what else is.

[1] Up to no good, that’s certain!

[2] ‘Don’t point out in your comments the bloggers’ awful spelling errors’ is my favorite.

[3] Curiously, was they count as ‘success’ is correlated with age. Older folks see success getting to the end with their health intact. Middle-aged folks see success as making it to retirement. Younger folks want ….. to be famous. What makes life an actual success (by some measurements) is actually a well-connected supported network or friends and family. No age seems to voice this as success per se. Too bad.

[4] This entry evoked neither. The gods were pleased – or at least The Board was.

[5] There are a few Spo-fans for which nothing I write seems quite satisfactory, but the dears come back on a regular basis and I would not trade them for diamonds or jewels.

“Everybody’s got a laughing place, a laughing place, to go ho-ho”

Jungians have a strong believe in balance. If something is out of balance, the opposite happens to makes things even. Yesterday I posted a morbid video of destruction; I feel compelled to balance this with bits of humor. Spo.

Whenever I need cheering up, or just want a good belly laugh, I go to The Tube of Yous to a cache of movie clips guaranteed to lift me out of the deepest doldrums. I thought I would share some. Mind ! It is always risky to recommend something you find funny as what is funny in one’s eye isn’t so in another’s. My late mother never understood why her sons and grandsons mania for Monty Python; she didn’t find them funny but weird. The one recommending a funny thing sometimes feels a resentment that the recommendee ‘didn’t find it funny’ ,as it the other was questioning your tastes or even your sanity. People get awfully queer about humor.

With that said, here are some video clips I can almost guarantee will make your grin and giggle.

I hope you may recommend some clips you think I might find funny, so I may go have a look-see.

The ‘Glass scene’ from “What’s up, Doc?” The entire movie is a hilarious farce, but the high point is the car chase through the streets of San Francisco . The glass scene works well as you know what will happen – but how?

The ‘mirror scene’ from “Duck Soup”. The Marx Brothers, especially Groucho Marx, were the best; do not dare to question this. It is hard to pick just one sketch, but Groucho and his brothers doing the mirror scene is as good as any.

The Black Knight. The chaps at Monty Python were comic geniuses. Like the Marx Brothers, it is hard to pick just one. The Black Knight is the one that keeps popping into my mind, so I choose this one. Unfortunately The Tube of Yous won’t let me post a link. Go check it out. If you haven’t seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail, I strongly advise you do.

Young Frankenstein – Run, do not walk, to see this movie.

Disorder in the Court – The Three Stooges. Stupid stuff really. It isn’t nice to confess but seeing someone slapped silly for being stupid still makes us laugh.

Rhabarberbarbara – do you know German? The German language can create words longer than a CVS receipt. Even if you don’t know German, the blabber of this tongue twister should make you giggle. Proust !

Pink Panther and Kato fight scenes. In all the Pink Panther movies Peter Sellers was routinely attacked by his manservant Kato. Oh the hilarity to see these two actors together.

Now we get to the cruder stuff. Thems who are offended by low humor should stop now. …..

Sony release its newest piece of sh-t – The Onion. This news parody is quite foul in language, but anyone who has ever struggled trying to figure out how to install a new tech-device will identify with this one.

AbFab wine tasting. One could easily argue two people getting drunk and then trying to drive is no joke, yet millennia of shenanigans done by folks ‘among the Philippians’ as Ben Franklin called it can still be funny.

And now, the worst, the crudest, the one I am almost guilty of – yet it makes me howl :

Mommie Dearest / Mamma Mia – The movie ‘Mommie Dearest’ was awful on many levels. Some wicked person set this to ABBA. The result is beyond the pale, camp as a row of pink tents. I suppose one has to be in a bar surrounded by slightly tipsy catty queens to appreciate how it makes folks howl. I won’t put the link. If you want to go search for it, do so at your own risk.

Tell me in the comments if you found any of these funny/not funny.

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