Celebrating the miracle of the Holy Trinity* and the true meaning of the season on this most festive and joyous of days.

(*Christmas Vacation, Die Hard and Home Alone.)

I think my favorite thing about leaving the house is the increasingly stark reminders of the speed and efficiency with which everything is going to utter shit.

I like ChatGPT because now when you scream into the void an idiot with no perspective and limited vocabulary mumbles back.

"It's what he would've wanted."

Nah man. No it ain't. He's over there in that box. I mean, he liked to golf. You ever try to hit a chip shot from inside a box? I'm pretty sure he woulda hated every second of this.

I woukd say "first night of football when the Yankees are also beating the shit out of the Astros and Silksong finally, at long damn last, came out" is the ideal time to book a 4 hour power outage.

Beers at 11:30. Last weekend of the track. Fired a million CFB bets on teams I've never heard of. Baseball action locked way too early. Two more days of this to go.

It is the time of sowing regret.

Im already sick of football and I haven't even watched the Giants trip over their own dicks yet this year.

When our forebears needed to opt out of life for a time they'd do things with some dignity to them like sign on to the merchant marines or learn the tender arts of the hobo.

I'd also like to opt out of life for a year, but only if I can go roadie for Weird Al.

Went out on a boat today and the price to pay was listening to the guy who owned the boat tell me everything about the brand-new boat and why this boat was hot shit while we were boating.

The monkey's paw does a lot of curling near the water.

Went and saw Clutch the other night. Between the opener and headliner, the venue bumped Waiting Room over the PA, leading to a massive middle-aged-dude singalong.

Increasingly convinced rocking the fuck out at shows is the only worthwhile thing left.