While writing this latest blog while on the terlit, I was reminded of someone making fun of me for having a subscription to Readers Digest. I’m 48, not 90.
I also subscribe to the Seattle Times. Further ridicule. I am tortured by those half my age. I read more than the sport’s page. It’s just not fair, and I don’t care. Screw you to those who don’t like Garfield and lasagna. He’s cool. I don’t know how Dagwood scored Blondie as a wife, but those sandwiches she makes him do it for me. The Family Circus can suck it. We miss the Far Side, but embrace Peanuts, especially Snoop and Woodstock. My old man loved the Wizard of Id and the incompetence of Sir Rodney. My father’s name was Rodney.
With great regard to Readers Digest, I’ve learned how to cook a squirrel in an easy bake oven. I’ve learned that lemons encourage immortality, tires bounce when inflated, donuts are fried, bacon is a substitute for anything and don’t trust a rattlesnake even if you have sliced its head off. Venom is a tricky deal. Don’t bet on it.
In essence, reading is terrific, unless there is venom in it.