Just Say No to Co-workers or Blogging with Craig Ferguson

Thanks for all the sinus relief advice. I plan to make my way over the state line this weekend to get some better drugs. Right now I've got a buzz going, the air conditioner is cranked up and Craig Ferguson is on my boob tube discussing the sexual preferences of assorted performers.

Everything is going to be just fine.

The buzz is compliments of my co-worker, who was tired of hearing me gag, snort, choke and cough so she lobbed a blister pack of pills over the wall at me. Her hubby works for EMS and had "acquired" some medication from the hospital. I took two and later I got really loopy headed. I asked her what it was (I thought it was Tylenol Sinus) and she said, "Oh I don't know, I just know not to take anything he brings home for me."

Thanks for that.

Truthfully, it probably just contained some form of Benedryl, that stuff always makes me woozy.

Craig Ferguson is talking about whipping Chihuahuas. I think Yoda heard him. He looks a little upset.
Okay so, he's only half Chihuahua. But still. I wish I could say the little guy was totally innocent and the sweetest dog on earth, but he's actually a little terror, at least towards the other dogs.
When I can't convince Ozzy to go back to his pen, Yoda turns into psycho mongrel and herds the big guy back in. Poor Ozzy is so laid back, I don't know why he takes so much crap from the little hellion.

Have I stopped making sense? Was I making any to begin with? Maybe I need a nap.

Craig and Cuba Gooding Jr. discussing nookie in the woods. Psst.. did I ever mention that I live right smack dab in the middle of a national forrest? I'm not sure I'd want to be gettin' my freak on out amongst the trees, bugs and assorted wildlife though. I mean, it's been a REALLY REALLY LONG TIME, and beggars can't be choosers, but I'd hate to be picking twigs and pine cones out of my nether regions in the afterglow.

Oh...oh.. oh.. there it is. Pelvic thrusts on the Late Late Show. Only it's Cuba, not Craig. Dang.

This is turning into the sorriest excuse for a blog post ever.

The Amazon is cleaning some gross, toxic juice out of the crisper in the bottom of the fridge. Bless her heart. That's love man.

It's looking like Oscar Meyer Weiners for supper tonight. I don't dare try to do anything more complicated than that.

Awww.. Craig's playing little lamb sounds. One of the guys at work used to call me "widdle wam." He'd sing the whole "*insert name here* had a little lamb" song to me with that baby talk, pseudo speech impediment. He doesn't work there anymore. I can't say that I miss his little serenades.

Okay, I'm boring myself so it must be bad. I'm off to boil weinies, then.. the couch.

Later Taters.