I am living on a borrowed computer. My laptop is in the iHospital. I hope surgery is successful, because my novel is on that thing's hard drive, and I may never be able to type those two pages again.
Because my time is limited, I shall save it by simply repeating bad jokes my father has told through the years.
For instance, when speaking of the neighbor down the street, who he personally despised but with whom my mother was friends, he'd say, "She has everything a man could desire. Big thick mustache, stocky shoulders, tattoos..."
They aren't all that short. Some are painfully, tragically long. You'll see.
That's about it for today. I have dragons to slay.
