Blanket Warning

Anyone who speaks to me should probably ignore anything I say between now and Thanksgiving.

I have about two functioning brain cells left, bouncing off each other like a demented game of Pong.

And that’s when my back isn’t hurting a lot, demanding beer to kill the pain. Then, the brain cells weave around and are pulled over by antibodies demanding breathalyzer tests.

At least in written format I can go back and read what I’m saying to see if it makes any sense. Words I speak, however, are paid heed at the risk of the listener.

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